The Ghost Unit
by lightningmouse
Summary: Set in the IDW universe. The hidden side of war - a story about those who live in the shadows... Note that while this series is set in ajremix's "What's Wrong With A Little Destruction" 'verse, it mainly revolves around original characters.
1. Prelude, Variations on a Theme

**Prelude 1: Variations on a Theme  
**_"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."_  
~ Andy Warhol

_Approximately 8000 B.C. - Not too long after the Dynobots have disappeared without a trace._

Sighing at the report he'd finally finished, Springer gently placed the datapad atop the pile, trying to ignore the fact that he'd had to file many such similar reports of late. Each lay there in the silence, a heavy and guilt leaden reminder of too many "almosts", too many "what ifs."

"We did what we could with the information we had." Springer looked up with tired, defeated optics. Roadbuster moved from the doorway, stepping into the office as the doors shushed gently shut behind him. "There are only so many miracles we can pull off, Springer. After a while... even we hit a wall." He shook his head as he slumped into one of the many chairs in the office, sinking into the unit with a soft groan. Holding his hands before him, Roadbuster cupped them together. "We just didn't have enough information." His fingers spread apart; a poor way to illustrate all that had been lost during the past few days but a simple, effective one nonetheless.

"Everyone is stretched thin. 'We don't have the resources to provide you with more'." Springer leaned forward, optics dimming as he started at the top of his desk. "They keep saying that." They meant it too, Springer knew this. He'd spoken with the Intel officer himself, so enraged at the time he'd been barely able to restrain himself from slamming the smaller mech in a wall. The defeat in Springer's voice was an echo of that same mech's, one which he'd ended up delivering to the medical bay after he'd collapsed from exhaustion into the startled triple-changer's arms.

"We're all stretched too thin." It didn't matter which one of them had said those words, as silence fell between them once more. Both felt the same way. Both knew the disaster they'd just lived through, so many lives lost on all sides, military and civilian alike... they knew it had been inevitable. More would die, still, that could have been saved. Things had been hard before - since the disappearance of the Dynobots unit, however, everything had gotten harder, fast. And the only team left for last ditch, no hope left missions were the Wreckers, now. And at this rate, they'd be left with no Wreckers soon, at that.

Both mechs remained silent in the darkness of the room, until Roadbuster looked down with a short, tired bark of laughter. "Primus. Make 'em build an intel unit based on the Wreckers, why not? Can you imagine how that'd work out out?" He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head at the sheer ludicrousness of the idea. It was the soft glow of Springer's optics, suddenly over-bright in the darkened room that drew his gaze back up. "Uh..."

"That's it." Springer started to grin slowly at the confused blink which met his words."No, really ... you're a _genius._" The leader of the Wreckers looked right through his second as he started to think, shoulders stiffening in unconscious defiance and back straightening as he went through idea after idea, dismissing each in favor of something more solid, something more concrete. Something which might possibly... just... work. Data scrolled long his HUBs and his analysis programs went into sudden, exhilarated overdrive.

"You're glitched," was the answer, widened optics staring at him across the desk. And yet, leaning forward slightly, Roadbuster was starting to smile as well. It wasn't the bitter, twisted thing his expression had been ever since they'd wrapped up their mission and stumbled back to Xanthium to tend to their wounded, but rather disbelief blending in with anticipation. "No way anyone would go for it... you _know_ how Intel is about keeping control of all their field operatives!"

"I'll _make_ it work," was the fervent reply.

* * *

_A.N.: So... you can all blame this on ajremix, truth be told. When she announced the end of her series, What's Wrong With a Little Destruction, my first thought was "But no! I don't want to stop reading about the Wreckers!" My second thought (ok, maybe fifth or sixth) went along the lines of "hey, if you can't read what someone else is writing about, just write your own stuff!" which made perfect sense at the time. However, as it turned out after a bit more thought - I didn't want to write about the Wreckers as principal characters because 1) ajremix did it and 2) I liked the way she's represented them and fleshed them out (pun unintended, oops?) and thus, didn't want to play with her interpretation of the characters._

So... I made up my own instead. This is a series with Original Characters as a main cast, set in the world of Destruction. I have pretty two awesome principal betas: ajremix has been reviewing these (which means I get to be sure that when the Wreckers do show up, they stay in character as it were!) and rexlapinii has been cheering me on while letting me know when I completely go off track in terms of storytelling, as well. Both are awesome and deserve many many thanks for helping me out with the Ghosts. I wanted to work with the "drabble" format, hence I kept a similar format to Destruction. I'm a complete fan of quotes, so you get those too.

And all I can say, 50k + words later and many more incoming is...

It seemed like a good idea at the time! XD

PS : Actually, my last thought as I wrote this? ...oh crap, I don't have a title for this! Ha!


	2. Prelude, The Art of Dealing

**Prelude 2: The Art of Dealing  
**_"He who makes great demands upon himself is naturally inclined to make great demands upon others."_  
~ Andre Gide

"Don't you think I don't know exactly what you're doing," the black mech hissed, evincing more displeasure than any were used to seeing from the usually cool, controlled Head of Intelligence officer. It was a point of pride for all those who worked closely (or even distantly) with him to know that not a single mech was able to joke about Intel being anything but stone cold brilliant after five minutes of exposure to their highest authority. The mech truly was just that brilliant. "You're trying to ask for far more than would even be remotely possible before scaling back to something we'd agree to just to get rid of you."

Data interpretation was what they did for a living. Manipulation was the part of data interpretation which kept them alive, and he'd seen the great big and bad Wrecker coming from a mile off on this one. Crossing his arms, refusing to sit down as he glared optic to optic with the triple-changer, making note of the battle scars etched in the armor plating of the green colored mech. None of the physical battle weariness was even close to present in Springer's optics, however - and that was the only thing which had allowed him sufferance to talk this long. When mechs believed, a way could be found, the Intel officer knew.

"Give me one good reason _why_ I should go with this plan of yours." It wasn't a challenge so much as a flat out demand for data and facts he could work with, something which would actually make him believe that the Wrecker's plan might work. Still - he couldn't possibly think they hadn't tried before, the black mech thought, processors bringing up several files simultaneously, from personnel data to psych profiles, each whirring through the constant information flow running through his processors.

"Because this time, we're going to do it a little differently," came the uncompromising reply.

A datapad was placed gently on the desk between them, the gentle gesture belying Springer's intensity. After a moment a black armor plated hand reached out and picked it up, the encryptions locking the data pad known and unlocked within instants. Information blossomed across the screen, patterns and data weaving through in a wild, outlandish plan. It was one which Springer had obviously known right from the start would appeal to the Head of Intel.

Turn the chaff into gold. Take the resources which are misused, misunderstood or just plain tossed aside and set them to something vital. Essential. Desperately needed. Maximize your underestimated resources.

There was no way, the black mech realized as he perused the data, patterns of mistakes and errors and Intel failures highlighting the need for what Springer proposed, that other elements in the command structure had not noticed this research. Someone, somewhere, had to have wondered at the data pull bringing all of this together must have caused, and as discreet as the triple-changer had been... a soft ping at the end of his firewalls caught his attention and the black mech allowed his optics to dull slightly, the ghost of a smile to edge his faceplates.

#Motion supported in full,# the ghostly echo said, devoid of any emotion.

#Right on time,# he responded dryly.

Another presence pinged clearly though the communications link, riding the signal exuberantly. #Slag yeah! We'll back this one up!#

Lowering the datapad, he met Springer's optics once more, amused at the sudden suspicion he was greeted with - clearly, his moment of inattention had been noted. He even let his amusement show briefly, because unsettling the Wrecker was a rare occurrence and he fully enjoyed those moments when he could be the source of it. "Let's talk." The growing gleam of victory in the Wrecker's SIC's optics was cut short at the sharp, sudden grin sent his way by the black mech. "Oh, this is just starting. Don't even think this will be in any way _easy_."

The Head of Intel's resources were stretched horribly thin. And he had absolutely no objection at using the Wreckers' resources in return for freeing some of his own in order to set up their little project.


	3. Building the Team, Flagship

**Building the Team: Flagship - Second Chances  
**_"A hunter of shadows, himself a shade."_  
~ Homer, The Odyssey

_Approximately 11000 B.C. _

It wasn't that no one tried. Many had, as a matter of fact. After the Disaster of Haven, it had been a miracle that any of his old associates would even consider acknowledging his existence. Most mechs refused to work under his command. Others openly sneered at him, regardless of rank or witness. A scapegoat had been needed for people to blame for what had happened, and by the nature of his rank and post, he had been the one chosen.

And yet Command hadn't hung him out to dry, as some believed. In fact, a large majority of Command had tried to support him, to make it clear that sometimes even the best of plans might crumble under the weight of unknowable factors, that the most well thought out offensive could and did succumb to a well laid trap. But the loss had been so great and the ensuing outpouring of confusion and pain so overwhelming that in the end, even his superior officers had to stand back and bow their heads in the face of the inevitable. Few would even consider the possibility of his innocence save those who had survived and those off the field of combat who knew better. The tide of public opinion prevailed and his career was ruined.

He, least of all, could blame anyone for any of their actions or deeds. Had he been of such a persuasion, he'd likely have found a quiet place to end his life; a poor, pitiful appeasement to offer in the place of all the brave soldiers who had died under his command on that fateful day, regardless of who was truly to blame for what had occurred. He'd thought on the matter long and hard despite his personal abhorrence for suicide, carefully weighing whether the act might suffice in salvaging something from the whole situation, eventually determining that it would not. It would only mean another loss, even as lackluster as his days were now that he stood behind the sidelines and wasted away in a small office no one ever visited, doing work no one ever looked at. The chance, the mere possibility that he might be able to do something once more, one day, anything at all, meant he was to live and endure. And wait for the day when he could once more be of use, however long it took.

---

_Approximately 8000 B.C._

The two mechs standing in his office finally accepted the offer to sit down once it became clear he wasn't going to budge on the issue. It was, he supposed, rude of him to make it a requirement before they were allowed to go on any further, but few things were under his own control these days. This was one of them and as minor as the pleasantries were, he stood by them still. His office was neatly, meticulously organized. His files were just as painstakingly sorted, for all that still no one would look at them. Decades and centuries of clerical work, both official and unofficial rotted around him. It was, he sometimes thought wryly, miraculous that he himself hadn't as well. But he'd known what he was in for when he'd made the decision to stay and wait things out, as long as it took. He could wait longer still, for a chance to redeem himself. Time was a small price to pay.

"So. Let's get to the point, shall we gentlemechs?" Cutting across the conversation was easy, despite the fact that he'd had so few to speak to in the past couple of millennia. Or perhaps, simply, because of it. "You want me to lead a team, once more." The nods of confirmation nearly drew a response, flat and uncompromising - but he bit it down, giving them instead the same courtesy they were giving him. He processed the information they'd given him once more, and found it lacking. There were still some things they weren't telling him, their angle in this still very much concealed. "As it stands, then, I must say it's not been long enough. You bring me out of this office and people will dig up files and remember Haven." Despite all the time that had passed and the iron control he exerted over his vocalizer, the word still resonated with feelings of powerlessness and loss which felt as bright and sharp as the day his world had been destroyed. "The moment I lead a unit into combat, your very tempting concept will be pointed at by everyone in sight, and it will fail."

Not once did he imply that he thought he couldn't do the job. In fact, what they'd offered so far seemed ideally suited to his knowledge and abilities. The concept "unable to" had never even crossed his processors. Then the larger of the mechs shook his head, glancing at the other before speaking up.

"That's the thing. First, a full shell refit and new identity is mandatory for anyone joining this unit. No one will know who you were. Second... we don't need you to go into combat situations." A hand wave dismissed the concept out of hand, rendering the point seemingly moot.

The other picked up where his companion had stopped, leaning forward intently as though he might be able to convince his audience through willpower alone.

"In fact, it won't be necessary save on rare occasions, if all goes according to plan." The mech who had been locked up in an office for centuries didn't even wince as he said this, watching the dark green bot speak as though nothing had ever happened to turn him into a monster, responsible for the deaths of thousands. "What we need is for you to help plan missions of a particular nature, and then guide your people in the field as necessary... but most of all, we need you to keep them _out_ of traditional combat situations. They'll sometimes be working individually, sometimes in pairs and sometimes, maybe, they'll have to work as an entire unit. But... each mission will be particular in nature and require various levels of expertise in specific fields. Fields which your agents will be able to cover, between all of them."

There it was. What they'd not been saying, what they had been dancing around the entire time. It was obvious now, revealed in a few of the words chosen, displayed in full with the nature of the missions suggestions.

"You're talking about Intel work." It a statement rather than a question. Neither of the two visitors in his office denied it.

"No restrictions. No politics. No higher command to frame how you work. Once the unit is done with basic training and deemed ready for active duty, missions will be handed to you or decided upon by yourselves on the field, based on the information you collect. You and yours will be encouraged to display initiative, ingenuity and improvisation. Each of your team members will, when training is done and after further experience on the field, be able to command should it be required. They'll be able to rely solely on themselves deep behind enemy lines as needed. But most of all, they'll be able to rely on each other in any situation as well, whatever the nature of the mission."

The contradictions were noted, the last sentence selected as the most important one of all. A team, an Intel team rather than a coterie of individual operatives. It was a novel concept. Missions filtered down to them from what the regular Intel operatives could not handle or didn't have the bandwidth to take care of. With additional missions decided upon by the team itself... He leaned back in his seat and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, building frameworks and laying out patterns, highlighting possible flaws and certain strengths. His HUD gleamed with possibilities.

Maybes and what ifs, each more brilliant than the other.

"Yes."

"Wait - you don't want to talk details?"

"My people and I will decide on the details ourselves. You already said we would." He gazed back at them, absolute and sure. If they were going to use him for this, he was setting down the ground rules from the very start.

Both mechs stared at him a moment, even as he offered them a sharp slash of a smile, then nodded as they relaxed, realizing he'd understood exactly what it was they were talking about. They'd laid terms he wasn't going to give up. Ever.

_Never another Haven._

The words burned deep within his processors and the future loomed before him once more, full of shadows and light... and fragile, burning hope.


	4. Building the team, Deadline

**Building the Team: Deadline - Redemption  
**_"Mental stains cannot be removed by time, nor washed away by any waters."_  
~ Cicero

Deadline. The name was hardwired in his systems now, one he responded to without a second thought. It felt odd sometimes but he never lingered on the emotion, easily shrugging it aside for more work instead. He'd been the first to arrive, the first official member of the unit. The first to be fully refitted, to be given a new identity and a new life. Deadline had then been given the chance to think and plan and set things into motion on a level unlike he'd ever had the chance upon to work before. Pity they had not been able to give him new memories, as well - but then again, he'd not be where he was today had they done so.

He stood on the brink of a chasm now, and all decisions were his to make. Build instead of destroy. Save instead of condemn. Salvation took many forms, he knew. He'd just never thought She'd deign to look upon him and grace him with Her favor.

His unit leader had been brought on board one cycle ago, swiftly extracted from his old life and delivered to Deadline's medlab for a full refit. As with any intervention of such a nature, it had taken time - time to strip the mech to his cranial unit and core containment case along with whatever systems were essential to his survival in such a state. Time to destroy any of the remaining elements of his old life thoroughly, the only identifiers remaining such that only death of a most final kind would allow anything to be revealed. A new identity was re-encrypted and laid in his systems, chip by chip, data stream by data stream, carefully nestled among all the things that composed the mech's own, innate personality. Once those had been accepted by the original systems, work of a more mechanical nature had begun as new components were brought in. He worked from the bare frame of a Cybertronian skeleton, setting strips of wiring and cabling into place, overlaying them upon parts and pieces which went from the mundane to the more esoteric to the entirely new and never dreamt of before.

Each of the mechs to join the unit would be brought to him thus, exposed and dismantled until they were at their most vulnerable. And each would be rebuilt, slowly and patiently, part by part. New bodies. New identities. New lives. A single, united purpose.

Deadline carefully designed each new upgrade for his unit leader, then implemented it. Mostly he worked on his own, though sometimes he had to bring in someone to assist him with some of the touchier, time sensitive work which could not be accomplished by a single mech. There would be nothing new for any of the other mechs awakening under his care after this one, other than his features and presence. Every upgrade, every aspect of their new body would be explained to them before the procedure began; just as it had been for the one he was working on.

There would be none of the terror or madness which had been the result of his previous work. Of his previous life. There would be none of the horror and debilitating cruelty he had chosen to perpetrate, then been forced to commit and to endure for far too long. His actions haunted him still, but with each new mech brought to his worktable, a little bit more of his past fell into ashes, leaving only glory to rise from the remnants of his unforgotten misdeeds.

_Arise and sally forth, Flagship._

Deadline watched the mech on the table and allowed himself a small smile - a rare show of emotion with no one present to witness it. The thought had been fanciful, yet pleasant. Oddly comforting. Perhaps, he thought, this was what hope felt like. To hold the faintest outline of a chance, to grasp for something which didn't twist away from him to mockingly fade into nothingness. Belief in something better. Faith in a possibility which grew more and more real with every passing moment, every newly implemented upgrade.

Each of them would be his retaliation towards a cruel dictatorship, one which had twisted his previous work into a thing of nightmares. Each of them would be a small chance at salvation from acts he would not forget, acts which haunted him day and night and would continue to do so until the end of his days. His faction symbol gleamed red in the light, a reminder of his new life, of the one way which he'd found which might allow for the beginnings of atonement.

None of mechs in his unit would ever know of his past unless he told them himself. None of them would ever know how very badly he needed every single one of them to succeed where he had failed.

Through them, perhaps, he could finally attain a balance.


	5. Building the Team, Fallout

**Building the Team: Fallout - Consequences**_  
"Heaven, on occasion, half opens its arms to us; and that is the great moment."_  
~ Victor Hugo

The mech at the counter beamed and held a package above his head, a single optic glinting down in amusement at the small and curvy courier mock-glaring up at him.

"C'mon, Steam, I have to finish delivering this stuff before my shift ends," she reminded him, refusing - as ever - to play the game. If she did, it would involve bombs and destroying the floor underneath the mech as a means of leveling their heights and since the entire concept was entirely against regulations (and would take a chunk out of her pay in repairs never mind the black mark on her record), she wasn't going there. Yet. The thought, now and again, was entirely appealing. The fact that she _liked_ the mech behind the counter however played entirely to his advantage and he, of course, used this to his advantage mercilessly.

With a chuckle, Steampump finally gave in and handed her the package, not even bothering to talk her through the usual sign off - she knew the forms better than he did, after all.

"They finally sending you to the front, little bit?" The question was genial and no offense was taken by the femme, though her pretty features darkened slightly as she shook her head.

"Wrong model, can't shoot to save my life still," she muttered bitterly over the forms, tapping out section after section at a rapid fire pace, filling them out with a clarity and neatness that had sent more than one clerk in fits of delight. "I'm too _delicate_." The last word was said with a mixture of scorn and annoyance - scorn towards those who had determined that based on her outward frame, annoyance in general at still being thwarted after all this time and having to admit that, just maybe, they were right. Both of them knew that femmes who had not managed to make it to the frontlines early on when the war had started were now being kept back from combat, through some unspoken decision to try and diminish the chances of losing any more of the few left. Which left only so many duties for her to fulfill, only so many commands to consider, none of them which served to assuage a deep seated need to do _more_, whatever more ended up being.

"That's sad," Steam signed, shaking his head in sympathy. Though sidelined himself due to injuries too severe to allow a return to full combat, he'd seen enough to know it wasn't all about brawn. The shooting, though - that was something he wasn't bringing up. Femmes were renowned for being good shots and some still snuck through to the front lines due to sheer raw ability alone. The femme filling up the form before him would most certainly not be one of those. What she lacked for in precision she more than made up for in brute strength effect, admittedly. Unfortunately, an uncanny talent for demolitions which kept being honed further through an obsession to perfect what she _could_ do well just wasn't ideal to help her break through as she wished to.

"We all do what we can," she filled out another section and handed him the form after adding her own electronic signature to it, a plethora of security levels and measures all satisfied in one fell swoop. "Seems like I have a time limit on this one, so I might as well head off," she tucked the package away in one of her cargo holds, activating the security fields automatically once it was closed and secured. In between opportunities to do more, to push things a little further, one tiny step at a time, the return to courier work was always comforting, somehow. Dependable.

"Yeah, I noticed." He grinned suddenly, the expression brightening up his features, the expression shifting his appearance from plain to appealing. "So. They really think that a timed delivery'll be a challenge for you?"

The answering grin, sharp and confident, drew a bark of approving laughter from him.

---

She'd had not really expected to be tailed during a routine delivery, time sensitive as it was. Still, she'd spotted the two mechs following her quickly enough and taking them and their alt-modes through the meandering streets and highways of the city had been something to do to pass away the time. She'd thought the outraged squawk from the flier particularly entertaining when presented with the sharp change in scenery - he'd avoided crashing with brio however, even as she ditched him only to fall under the observation of the other half of the team tailing her.

The use of sting grenades had been a bit evil, perhaps, but they'd served well enough for her to conclude that whoever was following her was 1) military in training at the very least and 2) had to be Autobot, as there'd be no way for Decepticons to infiltrate this deep into city limits without some sort of authorization, particularly with the public display all three of them were indulging in. Which meant some weird sort of training exercise. Nothing she'd ever been exposed to before, but she'd heard about such occurrences. The implications of it were set firmly aside, lest the possibilities distract her so badly she crash herself and ruin everything.

And then things had gotten serious, quickly so. Probably, she had to admit, _because_ she'd used the sting grenades, as perfectly legal as they were for a courier to use under the circumstances. Which left her to mostly concentrate on getting away from them as best as she could, while not getting shot up anymore (the low level bursts they were using were hardly fatal, but certainly stung!) or crashing into something in the process. The first burst of speed she'd put on had seemed to have taken them aback - then again, her aft still stung and she was getting more and more motivated about the whole getting away part of the equation. Preferably quickly enough that her delivery would still be on time (which, she estimated, she still had a comfortable margin of time to work with.)

Another shot nearly hit her and with a grumble of annoyance at whatever this was about, she released the dampeners on her turbines, shooting ahead while dodging through the traffic of the main road with ease. Her pursuers were soon left behind, thanks to the judicious use of her courier authorizations on the city navigational systems coupled with speed above that of what her model would lead one to expect. Once satisfied she truly had lost them, she doubled back using some of the lesser frequented roads and headed towards her original destination, making it there just in time to transform out of her alt-mode and confirm a notice of arrival for the central delivery database. Only to stare upwards, as the signals she thought she'd lost re-appeared, heading for her unerringly. After a moment's ambivalence she narrowed her optics and stood straight, waiting for them. Once the flier had landed both mechs transformed, shedding their alts modes to stand in front of her. She studied them intently, determined to wait and let them speak first as both simply stood there, studying her in return. Finally, the larger of the two mech stepped forward, lighting shifting to revealing craggy features framed in dark browns and greens.

"So. We're smack dab in the middle of Kaon. Interceptors and security personnel left, right and center. Why didn't you call for backup?" The tone was flat and uncompromising, though not judgmental and the question was so unexpected that she blurted out the first thing that crossed her processors.

"I didn't need to." She hadn't quite meant to make it sound as though it was such an obvious thing, but she'd known all along she could ditch them at any moment. She was a courier model. They'd obviously not been out to harm her, at least fatally. The chase had been a challenge, but not a threat. And... speed was her life's blood. Clearly some of this was easy to read in her expression, judging from the smile growing on the other's faceplates, his optics gleaming with a strange sort of gleeful possessiveness.

"My name if Flagship. I have an offer for you."

---

_Cycles earlier..._

_"No."_

_"But-"_

_"No. None of these will do." Flagship shook his head and handed back the data pads to Springer. "I know they're ideal. And they are, really. Under-utilized at the moment, with more potential than they're being allowed to exhibit. Which is what we're looking for in the mechs of this team." Shaking his head minutely once more, Flagship turned to another stack of data pads, sorting through them until he found the one he was looking for. "That's also why they won't do as my second-in-command."_

_"I'm curious. Why?"_

_"Because even though they're under-utilized now, they won't be soon enough. That kind of potential you've shown me will get noticed, sooner rather than later. They'll get their chance." Leaving the datapad closed, Flagship smiled slightly. "And the whole idea is to find me a second-in-command who otherwise would never be able to aspire to something like this, isn't it? Someone whose talents and abilities would otherwise go to waste." As his own had, for so long._

_When the green mech shrugged and conceded the point gracefully, Flagship's smile grew._

_"I have someone in mind. I'll let you know when I confirm my thoughts on this one."_

* * *

Nano-klik: Thank you! =)

Elanya: Woo! I'm glad you enjoyed the first one. And I'd highly recommend you read Destruction, but I'm biased too. XD


	6. Building the Team, Longshot

**Building the Team: Longshot - Faith  
**_"Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around."_  
~ Henry David Thoreau

The medic studied the profiles displayed on the holoscreen taking up the far wall, optics narrowing every now and then in contemplation. At regular intervals a profile would be dismissed, fading from view to let another take its place on the tapestry of lives floating before him. Deadline had been going through psych profiles and personnel files for the last deca-cycle in an attempt to lock down a suitable candidate for one of the last spots on the team. While each file which had been sent to him previously as confirmed team members had been proposed by others or Flagship, these new profiles - these were files he had gathered himself.

"You're missing something for this unit," was the first thing he'd said upon reviewing the files of his soon-to-be patients, right after he'd accepted the offer to join a "new kind" of unit. The mech who had recruited him personally had boggled for a moment, and then rocked his weight back slightly to give the comment some reflection. That alone had cemented the deal for Deadline. To be able to say something of the nature to one of the more hardened mechs who had been part of the process for the Unit's creation and to be taken seriously - to him, it meant this whole enterprise had a chance. A slim one, in his estimate, one which would depend upon the commitment and quality of each part of the whole ultimately - but a chance nonetheless. Deadline had always been inclined to bet on the long shot, the what ifs and the maybes. The realization of the improbable had always been the greatest of rewards to him, and it was this disposition which had led to him to where he was now, rather than other more final alternatives. This new life of his only made that more immediate, really. His spark still ached at the possibilities glimmering through the data and the code and the profiles he'd been presented. For the first time in what seemed like forever... he had found himself hoping for something more. Something so much bigger than anything he'd ever thought possible for himself.

"So. What are we missing, then?" The question had been posed seriously, and obviously an answer had been expected. Deadline had quickly recovered from his initial surprise at actually being taken seriously, being listened to, and after a pensive moment, he'd looked down at the data pad he'd been holding.

"You're missing the romantic idealist."

A blank, surprised look had greeted that statement, the mech evincing astonishment at him in so many ways, some small and some not so small. The flicker of a sensor relay, a twitch of the shoulder, a flexing of the hands. He knew, this mech - he knew Deadline's background and story. He knew exactly who Deadline had been, before his extraction, before his change of identity. He knew how easy it would be for the medic to read his every reaction and yet he'd still kept his stance open, let himself open to reading. Deadline was a ghost twice over now. Once for the life he'd left behind and now once more, for the new one he'd chosen. The thought had brought another flicker of amusement to the medic, a sliver of emotion coursing through his processors which had been later on, in the privacy of his new medlab, been replaced by a sense of awe. This choice was his. Entire and whole. Only his.

"All right then. Find one." The challenge was issued casually, Deadline's estimate of the lack within the team approved without any further ceremony.

And so Deadline had acquired access to every single profile in the database and then had requested more which weren't in there, and now he perused and calculated and evaluated. And profile after profile was dismissed, some were tagged as out of date and a very few were actually identified as possible infiltrators. But Deadline, very much concerned about the geometry of all things, steadily worked his way through the information at hand and would until he found what was needed.

He needed a special sort of mech, he knew. One who, even should he die in the course of duty, would leave such an indelible mark on the team that his idealism would stay in the unit's core spirit forever. There had to be more than one such mech, he told himself. Another he could find who would fill a place left empty, a kindred spirit of sorts to one whom he'd lost not so long ago.

There had to be.

---

"He said the unit was missing a romantic idealist."

"...ow, don't say things like that. My processor just declared war on me."

"Better win it fast then. The one who said that is also the medic of the unit. You know, the former Decepticon."

"Wait, the medic is THAT guy?"

"Yep."

"And HE wanted a romantic idealist on the team?!"

"Yep!"

"..."

"Roadbuster?"

"..."

"...oops."

---

Deadline watched from a distance as the mech beamed and smiled and - without even trying - made himself the center of the flock surrounding him. Some moved away and others arrived, but invariably the mess hall ended up revolving around the noble perched upon a table, recounting some tale or other of days long past before the war. Though the mech seemed a bit light on the processors at times, Deadline could see the currents eddying around the focus of his observation easily enough - and how the mech redirected the frowns, turning them into smiles and how conflicts dissolved before even starting, each moving away lighter of step and spirit.

Eventually, the noble moved on and the mess hall reformed without him after his departure, a bit duller and quieter for the absence despite being as typically rowdy as any mess hall had ever been.

Deadline waited in the shadows of the hallway, calculating the interactions he had seen, evaluating the mech's behavior and matching it to the common points of the psych profile he had - adjusting a few others to tweak the data into something more accurate than what was on file.

The noble's arrival wasn't hidden - he simple rounded the corner and walked straight towards Deadline, deep in thought.

"You've been watching me. Why?" The question was diffident enough, Deadline not even being looked at in the process. Leaning against the wall, the noble looked though the windows lining the hallway, down into the city below.

"Your potential is being wasted here." The words were neutral, matter of fact. The noble's demeanor changed at them though, going from casual and light to something else entirely.

"They don't want to risk me in actual combat." The statement was dropped between them like a stone, the other bot's voice no longer the sing song, mellifluous thing it had been up until now. "Which means keeping me safely away from any real action and not risking any political fury over my potentially getting hurt." There had been issues, Deadline knew. He'd read the mech's profile, after all - and then had dug deeper.

"What would you be willing to do, then," he asked, having long thought out the question and how to phrase it, "for the chance to do something more?" He paused, carefully counting out the moments before going on. "For the chance to make a difference. Not just balancing the dynamics of those around you, but rather to truly make a difference."

Narrow-eyed, the noble didn't respond - suspecting perhaps a prank of some sort, or the treachery of lady chance offering something he wanted so very badly only to snatch it away at the last second. Deadline withdrew a data card from where it had been tucked away under the plating of his arm and held it out. As the other finally reached out to take it, he held on, still waiting for a response.

"I'd do anything for that," was the simple response, finally. Truth shone from the optics watching him, and as he relinquished the data card to the other mech's grasp, Deadline knew they had him.

---

"So. I have take on a new name, then?" The cultured tones were fluid, almost a caress and the way he spoke clearly wasn't even an afterthought to the mech. He'd just always spoken that way. That - and everything else - was going to change, though.

"Indeed you do. I have some shell models for you to look at, as well," the medic pulled out a few medical data pads from seemingly nowhere and handed them over to the smaller, graceful mech walking beside him. The make and lines of his root mode made it clear that no expense had been spare in his creation, nor any in his continued maintenance. Everything about him breathed "costly".

"Huh. You know, I think the hardest thing in all of this will be figuring out the name," was the slightly sheepish response, the sniper activating the data pads casually. After viewing a few of the models he stopped in his track with a small sound, the medic overshooting him briefly before pausing to look over his shoulder. A faint smile creased his lip plates at the sight of the other mech, cooing over one of the data pads with a love-struck expression. It was, Deadline knew, the one he'd based off some older vids. Even the accent he'd implemented for the vocalizer of the model was inspired for the patterns and lingual characteristics of the old heroes of many a young Cybertronian's pre-war days.

"I suggest Longshot," he said, entirely unashamed at taking advantage of the other's distracted state, hiding his satisfaction with little effort. The sniper had chosen exactly the model he thought he would. It was the direct opposite of his current frame in many ways, with a few similarities - but enough that he would retain his inherent natural grace when in motion, preserving the same loose fluidity of the joints and limbs.

"All right. That's good. Could we go with this shell? And could we integrate an internal range scoping mechanism? Though I think would like to bring a few modifications to it first, and then..."

The sniper's enthusiasm for the refit and overall knowledge in regards to his weapon of expertise was received with reserved approval from the medic and both mechs continued down the hallway, discussing the benefits and downsides of the various upgrades listed in attachment to the sniper's new shell.

It would be hard to keep his distance from this one, Deadline knew. Experience had shown him - oh, how it had - how important someone with such a psychological profile was to the harmony of a team.

Life was going to get... interesting.


	7. Building the Team, Salvo

**Building the Team: Salvo - Truth  
**_"The greatest truths are the simplest."  
_ ~ Hosea Ballou

_"War is an ugly thing."_

He remembered those words now, spoken to him by an old, raggedy bot he'd dug out from under a pile of refuse in an alley and dragged back to a temporary shelter.

_"War turns us all into such ugly things..."_

He'd dragged that damn thing all the way to his unit's assigned medical outpost when the shelter had refused him for lack of space and when the medics at triage had tried to refuse him, he'd dumped his own repair ticket on top of the pile of wheezing, rusting metal and had told them to do their damn job, or else he'd do his. Intimidated, they'd scurried about and set to repairing the old bot, right up until the head medic had arrived. Their complaints had been squashed even faster by that one, faster even than they'd been with him. In the face of such whip-lashing efficiency he'd left, knowing things would be done right and proper.

His combat unit would have harassed him for that kind of stuff if they'd dared. But he'd long ago proven he was bigger and meaner than they were. And when he wasn't bigger, he was still meaner and never afraid to make that amply clear to anyone who might think otherwise.

That was what they had all said, after he'd killed his unit commander.

"He's a mean one, that mech. Wrong in the processors. Always knew he'd end up doing something like that."

The security detail that came to get him thought so too, but they just didn't know any better. He didn't have the spark in him to fight them for real, and he wouldn't have really wanted to anyway. They were just doing their jobs. He'd done nothing much more than bend them a little, or toss them around here and there, before finally letting them take him in. He'd have been indignant, protested his cause if he'd thought they cared, but no one had listened to him before, right up until he took matter into his own hands. No one had cared. Some, he was certain, had even approved. So why would they listen to him now? He'd known what would happen after his commander died at his hands. He'd thought about it long and hard and decided it was something he had to do anyway.

Because that old bot in the alley had been _wrong_.

The shackles around his wrists and the spikes driven through his treads should have been heavy, should have hurt. But he felt no pain as he lifted up his head defiantly to look at the mech standing tall in front of him. He glared at him through the light streaming down by the small window, falling into the airless cell like fire.

"Why did you do it?" The question which had drawn him out of his daze was repeated and he realized that it was the first time anyone had asked him since he'd been first taken in. Why.

"Because it was right thing to do." The answer should have earned him another beating. Only as he kept looking, he realized that there was no one else in the cell. Only the mech standing there and himself.

"Why was it the right thing to do?"

"...because he killed _them_."

"The Decepticons?" The tone of voice was non-judgmental. Neutral. He'd heard mechs speaking like that before, cold-sparked slaggers who poked and prodded at you to try and see what made your processors tick. The light streaming down on him was warm and nice though and he figured if he answered he'd get to keep that for a little while longer.

"Yeah. Them. That's why I killed my commander. I killed him because it needed doing and because no one else would have done it before he went off and killed himself some more innocent civilians. I killed him because those Decepticons were just that. Innocent civilians." He paused for a short, bitter laugh. "Innocents that protected me when I was lost in enemy territory because they could, even after they found out which faction I belonged to. I killed him because when my unit finally found me, he had them kill off the poor slaggers even _after_ I told him how I'd survived. And then bragged about having done the same thing before. I killed him because no one else wanted to do a damn thing about it when we got back and because no one wanted to listen to me when I tried tellin' command what he'd done. I killed him because others like him doing the same thing needed to know there might be someone like me willing to stop 'em."

The rattling of the chains was heavy in his audios and he realized his hands were shaking, fists clenched tightly in anger and frustration. He didn't care about what might happen to him. He just wanted for some sense to get through to someone. Anyone. That and for the patch of light to stay on his armor, warm and comforting. Dust motes danced in the tiny sunrays, landing on dried flecks of energon and he suddenly felt tired, moreso than ever before.

"Sure, war is an ugly thing. But that don't mean we ought to let it turn us into something just as ugly too."


	8. Building the Team, Wildside

**Building the Team: Wildside - Forbearance  
**_"All that I have accomplished, or expect or hope to accomplish, has been and will be by that plodding, patient persevering process of accretion which builds the ant-heap, particle by particle, thought by thought, fact by fact."  
_ ~ Elihu Burritt

Several mechs had been over to see him lately, always when no one else was around or during the dead of night when there were not possible witnesses to see them. To each he'd said the same thing, calmly and patiently.

"I don't fight anymore."

None of them really knew. None of them understood what drove him, simply because none of them were him. Oh, they might have lived through similar experiences - in fact, they likely had, at one time or another. But ultimately, they weren't him. They hadn't lived through what he had, nor experienced it the way he had. Through each step taken which had forged him into the mech he was today. Through each moment and second which had served to solidify his decision to set his weapons aside, to strip himself of any offensive weaponry at all, the only thing left to him his considerable bulk and innate strength. It had served him well these past centuries. The simple manual work of a low-tier construction bot, mindless for the better part - it had been the perfect refuge, one which allowed him to simply be. And each of these mechs visiting him didn't seem to understand that it wasn't that he was broken or afraid that kept him there. It wasn't that he'd been crushed by the trauma of a conflict so vicious in its toll that others still spoke of it in hushed tones, if at all.

It just wasn't the right time to go back yet.

And so he kept working after they left, and worked the next time they visited and worked still once they departed, falling into the steady rhythm of no-thought, processing only what was needed to carry on. Losing himself to time while building something, even the simple things he worked on now - it was a good way to wait. So when yet another mech arrived in the dead of night, he spared him a small smile and kept working, just as he'd had every other time.

"Never another Haven."

The words hung in the space between them, the soldier-turned-builder's expression shifting from pole-axed to calmly determined. He didn't recognize the mech standing in front him, with all the deadly weaponry concealed behind gleaming armor. He didn't know who had just turned his world upside down, yet set it back to rights all with three words. And the truth was... it didn't matter. The survivors of Haven had long ago been scattered to the winds, but each that still endured lived with the same mantra etched deeply in their sparks. He bent down to set the girders he had been carrying on the ground and steadied himself, activating processors he'd not even thought of since that day.

"Never another Haven," he agreed softly, rising to stand tall.

After waiting for so long, it was time to step into battle once more.

---

_7 cycles ago._

_"We have... a potential, for the new breaker Deadline is devising. We've spoken to him, but he's just turned us away so far. He is by far the best one suited for it though and not just because of his psychological profile..."_

_The file was opened and Flagship looked at the datapad for a long time, not really seeing it anymore beyond the picture of the mech glowing on the screen. Finally, with a smile tinged with regret, Flagship nodded._

_"He'll join. You just didn't know the right thing to say."_


	9. Building the Team, Callsign

**Building the Team: Callsign - Strength**  
_"Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it."  
_ ~ Helen Adams Keller

Being touched was a bad thing. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. He had always suffered when adjusting to new sensors, and each upgrade meant previously unknown levels of torture as he tried to adapt to higher levels of sensitivity and sensation while everyone around him shrugged and went on, most not even trying to understand what was really going on. The other fliers usually shunned him, most staying away to avoid a reminder of something which could just as easily have happened them, though some did so merely not to remind him of what he could never have. The few mechs who did understand generally sympathized and tried to do what they could to make things easier for him, but there were also others who mocked him or sought to take advantage of his condition. In the end, there was only so much anyone could do and ultimately he learned his lesson well.

Being near others was a bad thing. Being touched made it worse.

Being a flier, created and built with an indelible love for the sky, he could of course never, ever give up flying. So it became a simple routine - one he perfected over time through much practice and through the use of his oft-abused sensors. Avoid other bots. Keep to areas rarely used by others. Find safe places to occupy whenever needed. Stay up high. Always have an escape route. Eventually he came to be known only whenever others mentioned him, for the mech was rarely if ever seen at all unless one knew what to look for. His missions were limited despite the fact that his sensors surpassed any other fliers. It was those very sensors' liability that made it so.

The flier didn't expect to find another mech on his roof, one day - a large, condensed looking combat type that nearly startled him right off the building he was using as his latest hideout. The other mech said nothing, letting him recover his composure and not commenting nor looking at him oddly for sidling around the edges of the area and staying as far away as possible from him. That was enough for the flier to not launch himself off the edge right away. Barely. He berated himself for staying, for wondering why someone would seek him out and finally despaired at himself for still _needing _others when others never needed him. The skittish flier waited, the breeze grating across his flight sensors like so many particles of sand during a desert storm. And then he moved once more, edging around the other mech crabwise as the other shifted and walked slowly, until they had traded spots.

"Is that better?" The question startled him badly and he would have likely tripped over his own limbs if he hadn't trained himself to _not move_ when surprised so, in order to avoid even greater pain than what he usually had to go through. He repeated the question to himself silently and stared ahead at the other mech, not saying a word until he suddenly caught on, straightening up slightly from his hunched position. They had exchanged places. He was now in the usual spot he preferred on this roof - the one with no air currents, no dust particles floating about. The ache registering from his sensors was at its lowest. That was why the intruder had moved - to allow him a respite from the wind which any other flier would have wanted to stand in, when not in flight. The surprise was enough for the flier to tilt his head to the side in a silent question, wondering who this mech was that he understood why one like him sought out places such as these. High above, yet grounded. Near the wind, but not in it.

"Your sensor management programs are warped and no amount of patching has nor will ever resolve the issue. As a result your sensors put you through constant, crippling pain. But you love flying. You're afraid they'll take it away from you and try to tell you it's for your own good. They've tried before. If you're up high and always ready to take to the first air current, you can get away from anyone as quickly as you need to in case they try again. You can make sure, no matter what, that no one takes the sky from you." The mech paused for an instant, letting every implication of his last statement sink in.

The flier shifted his weight slightly, body angled towards the nearest ledge even as he listened to every word spoken. Sensors adjusted minutely, panels moving in ways they weren't meant to in order to avoid any wayward gust of wind or speck of dust whirling in from around the corner of a wall.

"You think no one needs you. That you have no purpose. No task to fulfill. No place of your own."

With a twitch, the flier retreated further into the shadows, shifting restlessly, panels flexing in the unmoving air. The whine of servos protesting constant pain, a sound he had long ago learned to filter from his audios, resonated in the small enclosed space.

"You're wrong." The mech lifted one large hand, clasping an incongruously colored, pearly white data card. He placed it on top of one of the many rails lining the ledges of the rooftop, balancing it there carefully. "My team needs you. Without you, I don't think we'll be nearly as good as we need to be." He removed his hand from the data card, and took a step back. "Everything you need to contact me is on that card." Without a further word the mech left, greens and browns fading to unseen in the shadows leading to the lift on the far side of the roof.

The flier stared from the cubby for a long time, looking at the data card. He'd learned long ago that other bots meant pain. That as much as he loved it, flying would only ever hurt. That the only surcease from agony rested in a lesser pain which could only be found where nothingness existed. When he did not fly.

The wind brushed across the roof and the data card wavered. Another gust of wind sent it leaning slowly to the side, until it slipped from the rail guard and toppled into nothingness.

Reaching out, the flier rushed from the safety of the darkness and flung himself over the edge.


	10. Distractions

**Distractions**  
_"The amelioration of the world cannot be achieved by sacrifices in moments of crisis; it depends on the efforts made and constantly repeated during the humdrum, uninspiring periods, which separate one crisis from another, and of which normal lives mainly consist."  
_ ~ Aldous Huxley

Their arrivals were staggered, each delayed by the length of time and effort Deadline had to commit for every individual refits. Much of their early training relied on this and on him, and the surgical engineer (also team medic now) spared no effort in ensuring the very best care for them. Most of his time was spent pouring over schematics and reviewing inventory, ordering this or that in order to ensure the smoothness of a certain procedure, or a host of other things which all composed the rhythm of his life as he started to settle into a routine. The medlab which had seemed so new and pristine gradually grew more comfortable, more as though it belonged to him - or he to it. One thing bothered him though and it threw him off more than he realized. He hadn't expected to become the unit's orientation officer, but it seemed that being re-activated in his presence and the need for him to remain within range for some time as each of his patients settled in their new shells resulted in every single one of them turning to him with their first questions. And then their subsequent questions. And then even when released into Flagship's care, they somehow ended back in his medlab with yet _more_ questions. It puzzled him to not end and Flagship would provide no answer for the behavior other than to offer him a slight shrug and a smile.

Fallout was brought back online after her refit was done and after a single hour of asking him questions and then seeing others wander in to ask him more questions - much to his ever increasing annoyance - she had given him a pensive look and then offered to take over that portion of things. She had been direct and straightforward about it, with an already clear plan of action laid out. Deadline had immediately agreed, brushing away any further explanations. He'd even felt almost... grateful. (Just because he wanted to make amends didn't mean he had to _like_ other bots. Or want to spend time with them. Or any other such silly notion. Socializing was an annoyance at best and a dreadful waste of time away from his work at worse.)

Of course, having another present at each other mech's awakening meant that the femme had to be briefed in more than just basic medical knowledge while still adapting to the consequences of her own refit as well as dealing with each stage of the processor augmentations she was still undergoing. This meant setting a portion of time out of his schedule during the next shell refit for that purpose only which irked him ceaselessly until Fallout presented him with an estimate of the time he'd save over the remaining refits by not having to do any of the orienting she was taking over from thereon. That she had included a review of the notes she was obviously taking down during the time he was spending getting her informed on what he did and post-op procedures pleased him greatly, not that he'd said so outright. He also noticed that she'd also scheduled eventual training for each member of the team, specifically so that any of them would be able to deal with the particularities of their teammates' upgrades should something occur on the field or with Deadline out of immediate reach. This he relayed to Flagship, and did state approval on. She had tasks ready for each of the new arrivals as well, upon their awakening, effectively getting each new member out of his presence and into her office as swiftly as possible, allowing him a period of solitude and recovery before he went on to the next set of procedures. His work flow was improving with every passing moment and as a result the arrival of the second-in-command was deemed a very good thing from then on.

Once the refits were done and everyone ushered away for individual training which did not yet require his supervision, he allowed himself the luxury of a full block of downtime before settling down to begin some research for future upgrades. Soon though some of the training sessions were added to his schedule by their 2IC. After some of those he requested to be present for some of the further sessions, particularly for Callsign as the calibrating of the flier's sensory net shield was a never-ending task. Especially when the flier proved surprisingly stubborn about attempting to insist he was fine even when some of the shielding mesh leaked feedback at him. Deadline ignored the stubbornness and worked with the other mech until the sensor shielding was prepped to his exacting satisfaction and no feedback leaked through to traumatize the mech anymore. And then he supervised the flier a bit more, just to make his point clear.

He still kept researching upgrades through all of that and did follow-ups on the rest of the team, intent on ensuring no potential issue passed unnoticed. It actually took him a full month to realize the almost regular interruptions to his schedule which were forcing him to take breaks from his research occurred just at the right time for him to decide to give up and get some rest once the interruption was done with. It took him another two weeks - once he started observing this with more purpose - for his suspicions to be confirmed. He stalked down to the mess hall then, ready to tear into the others for actually managing him like that.

The energon cube already up and presented towards him, along with a series of sly or amused expressions and a calm flicker of welcome from one of Fallout's sensor panels made him pause long enough to decide that perhaps he should just take his own advice and not fuss too much over what they'd done. And get some rest when he needed it, instead of working himself to exhaustion.

But it still didn't mean he had to _like_ them...

...much.

* * *

Tiamat1972: Callsign is going to have flight capabilities that'll allow him both atmosphere and space flight (due to his size, he really won't be able to travel in a shuttle with the rest of the team. XD)


	11. Coalescence

**Coalescence  
**_"Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix."  
_~ Christina Baldwin

**Callsign  
**Salvo's upgrades had been tested easily enough, and the mech had been long ago banished to the spectator's seat along with Wildside, the latter so quiet he often went unnoticed by his teammates despite his size. The both of them had watched intently as the others were run through their paces, Salvo more often than not looking noticeably ill at watching Callsign's meandering, unpredictable flight patterns. The sensor laden flier had taken some time to master his new form and shielding, as though afraid the slightest of motions might spell disaster. And yet, when he'd finally figured out the balance of thrusters and anti-grav stabilizers, there'd been no stopping him. No course, no flight pattern had seemed to fluster him in the slightest as he went through the most confusing paths to gather the data he'd been instructed to get... and then started to go for more, the stream of data he sent back to Fallout growing more complex and multi-layered with each additional outing. He'd finally settled on upward of roughly 350% more data gathered than had been projected as necessary for his tasks. Fallout had more decimals for that number, but no one bothered remembering them.

_The air didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't sure other things - other bots - wouldn't still, but he wasn't anywhere near ready to try that yet so it didn't matter. But flying was no longer both blessing and curse, and instead had become everything he had ever been told it was, everything he had dreamed it to be... Callsign flew and flew, and then when he should have stopped instead he just flew more. The skies were the safest place for him to be, even with Salvo conducting target practice with dummy rounds with him as the target. The one time he'd been wing-clipped by the mech had nearly driven him to ground from fear of the expected pain - but as Deadline had promised, the filtering shields held and Callsign recovered, resuming a meandering, dizzying flight with ecstatic joy. He would hurt again one day, he knew. One day a shot would get through the new shielding he now had, or a directed data burst would impair him and send him crashing to the ground. But as the air danced around him and Salvo laughed down below, Callsign didn't care. Flying had been all he'd longed for, even when it meant constant, crippling pain. What he had now was worth something far, far worse happening in exchange. Flying didn't hurt anymore._

**Longshot  
**The sniper's turn for testing had arrived then, Longshot having completed the solo portion of his training long ago. That portion of his training had been mere formality, however, and this he knew only too well. The true test began with the second phase and adjusting to the data which Callsign gathered for him. It had thrown him off so badly at first that after the first day of missing his targets in disastrous, humiliating ways the sniper had withdrawn, refusing to even come out of his room for days. This has lasted until somehow Callsign himself, of all bots, had managed to talk him outside. In fact, whatever had been said to him had so motivated the sniper that he'd gone from his room straight to the training field, Callsign floating high above and neither mech had then left until an exhausted Longshot had somehow mastered the flow of data sent his way and began nailing every shot perfectly once more.

_The rush of information coming at him from Callsign had been so strong Longshot had nearly fallen on his aft during the first attempt at link-up, prompting concerned sounding pings from the flier above until he'd been able to send a feeble reply in return. Ever since, each time he'd tried to take control, to retrieve the data he needed for the perfect shot, everything had spiraled away from him, slipping from his fingers like smoke in the wind. Sheer anger at himself had driven him from the range for the very first time in his life, sent him stalking to his room to sulk as though one newly-sparked. He'd stewed until Callsign had come to get him and then he'd forgotten all about his anger at the sight of the awkward, angular ground-bound flier trying to fit through the door to his quarters without touching any of the edges just to talk to him. It had taken them a while to sort out the breadth and height of the flier's limbs but eventually Longshot had managed to free him from the doorway, feeling suddenly small and stupid for his earlier anger. Callsign had winced then smiled each time Longshot had had no choice but to resort to touch to untangle him from the frame and the cheerful words "It's all right, it didn't hurt!" had been said just as often. The white mech's evident glee at something any of them took for granted had chased away all traces of ire and finally Longshot had done what he should have done all along and just asked the flier how he did it. Callsign had been more than happy to explain to him how he handled the unfathomable rush of data he collected and shared with him. Figuring out how to ride it, how to just go with the flow and not try to control it or even understand it had been almost easy once he stopped trying to decide where the data should go. And the exhilaration had been like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was, he thought, probably exactly how Callsign now felt every time he took to the air._

**Salvo  
**He hadn't been subjected to the intensity of training the others had been and at first this had confused him. It has also made him suspicious, wondering if all of what they'd offered really was somehow too good to be true. Until he realized that the long talks with Flagship were somehow genuinely interesting as opposed to heavy-handed psycho-analysis, and that the visits with Deadline were quiet and uneventful until _he_ blurted out something before the calm drove him insane. He wondered why he had been chosen for the task, when he was told he would be the one handling the combat training of the principal field operative they had until he gave up asking himself why they'd give him of all people that sort of responsibility. He had a chance at something though he still hadn't wrapped his processors around what it might be just yet, so he contented himself with just going along while trying not to stand out too much.

_It was when he stopped twitching each time one of the others walked by that Salvo realized his time during basic wasn't so much about training as it was about mending. He took to standing in the light outside whenever he could under pretext of watching the pale, ghostly flier drifting above, just because he could and just because he needed to prove to himself that no one would creep up on him to try and take him by surprise. After a storm drove Callsign from the sky in a frightened whirlwind of loops to land and transform on the ground, angular limbs curling together for protection, Salvo was the one to find him and bring him inside, crooning at the panic stricken flier reassuringly the entire time. It wasn't until after they were inside that he realized Deadline was watching intently, not saying a word. It wasn't until he walked up to the medic – Callsign still wrapped around his bulk, trembling in the lingering throes of terror – and asked for help that Salvo realized what had changed. This unit and the ones in it were not a threat to him, nor could he bring himself to see them as such or treat them as such as he'd had every other unit before. He started training Fallout the next day._

**Fallout  
**When she'd first woken up, the physical changes of her refit had seemed so drastic she hadn't even been sure that walking was within her capabilities. She was taller (though not that any of the mechs would notice so much) and bulkier and her joints were different in subtle and not so subtle ways. It took her a long time to feel comfortable again doing the simplest of things and she spent long hours just pacing the base, setting down data pads in different locations only to pick them up again on her next circuit. Salvo was the one to train her in combat and though she'd expected the large, sometimes crude mech to give her a hard time he said nothing, instead putting her through grueling workouts that left her feeling as though she'd never even conceived of the true meaning of the word "training" before. When the serious combat training began – training she was told would last long after the team was out of basic – she thought perhaps she wasn't meant for this after all. So she took refuge in managing the team's schedules and ensuring their medic didn't work himself into exhaustion before training was even over. And then when he proved particularly dense about that point, she promptly enlisted the rest of the team to assist her in the matter.

_And then things slowly changed. Interacting with the team and working with them to ensure their medic got some downtime helped. Her processor augmentations continued as scheduled, and between one phase and the next her body started to feel right, motion no longer a challenge but rather a calculation of infinite paths and trajectories, turning every movement into an infinitely varied stream of data. But the first time she truly felt as though this had been the right thing to do without any doubt at all was when Deadline finally gave her permission to transform to her alt mode for the first time. While her root mode had originally left her feeling entirely out of place and sometimes sprawled on her aft when something didn't move as it should, the first thrum of a cycle's thrusters had brought a wild, electric feeling to the fore. She'd taken to the testing tracks they'd made for her as though chased by every demon of the Pit, and they'd had to talk her away from them through both promises and threats alike. The sheer bliss of speed, the perfection of motion she'd always sought when racing down a road had been home and comfort, a refuge from thoughts of failure and defeat. She was faster now than she'd ever dreamed possible, equipped with processing power she was barely beginning to tap – and stronger too. By the time Deadline started talking about making adjustments to her upgrades she was practically haunting the medlab whenever her duties allowed. He took it in stride and included her suggestions in his work when he felt they had merit. They discussed her processor augmentation and what it meant, and Deadline gave her a precisely calculated timeline as to when each portion of her new data streaming capabilities would be unlocked for her. And when she pushed things further, with suggestions most couriers only considered in their wildest dreams, he'd turned to actually look at her for a moment, then told her he'd see what he could do about those too._

**Wildside  
**He took to shadowing Salvo early on, recognizing the tenseness about the other mech instantly. He radiated calm and safety because it was what he did best and eventually he started doing that around some of the others as well, shedding the façade of stupidity for one of quiet serenity. It took him only a short while before he realized who their leader was - had been. When he figured it out he stopped walking from the sheer astonishment and quiet joy, a following Longshot colliding against him and falling on his aft before the sniper realized Wildside was the wall he'd walked into. The large mech had stared ahead in empty space for a while though as the black and red eventually stopped staring and hauled himself upright, until Wildside realized what had happened and moved, one large hand assisting the smaller mech upright. With that done, Wildside left without a word to find Flagship.

_He remembered that day still. He always would, just as any of the few who had survived Haven and hadn't yet taken their own sparks would always remember. That day haunted him and he kept searching for a sign. What perhaps had been missed, what might have been done differently. He remembered the aftermath of Haven in searing detail whenever he paused from his work, and still sorrowed at the slow and steady destruction of the best commander he'd ever served under. When he realized Flagship was that very same commander he said nothing. His patterns adjusted slightly however, so that the same calm and serenity he'd shared with his teammates now included his unit leader as well. Whether Flagship guessed that he knew or not didn't matter - they never spoke of it. And when Deadline came to him and explained the Breaker Unit in excruciating detail, not stopping until Wildside told him to stop explaining, the decision was easy to make. After all, he knew the measure of the mech who would hold the key to his sanity._

**Flagship  
**The first prank involved glue "borrowed" from Deadline's medlab and ended up with an entire section of their rec room thrashed nearly beyond repair. Salvo chased Longshot about the base for days afterwards, peeling off after the sniper in refreshed indignation at every snicker and giggle he heard. Callsign took to lurking about in the sky to either disclose the location of the sniper-in-hiding, or at other times to warn the entire base of a rampaging Salvo's location instead. Flagship could have sworn a few of Longshot's closer calls with capture involved cleverly concealed traps and tripwires installed by his second, but she kept a straight face each time, even showing disapproval when the mechs' antics went too far now and then. The day Longshot managed to find a way to set up the wash racks to spray paint only for specific mechs also happened to be the same day a suddenly very pink Wildside wandered off to find the sniper, picked him up then solemnly went right back to said wash racks with a squirming Longhost tucked under his arm in order to even the score, Salvo cheering the proceedings along with unabashed satisfaction. Most of the pranks were easy and swift, a few more complex and elaborate, but they soon became part of their way of life, only one of the many ways acceptance and unity were expressed. He kept track of each of them, sometimes even keeping captures or vids when possible - the "secret" souvenir of the team's training days.

_One day Wildside came to him with a question and the both of them ended up wandering the base as they discussed some of the finer points of the new emergency extraction tactics they'd devised for the team. When he returned to his office nothing seemed untoward and it took him days to realize that someone had seeded the entire room with magnets, and then used oppositely charged magnets on every single item available. Once he'd determined he wasn't losing his sanity nor that actual ghosts were haunting his office, he laughed long and loud in the privacy of his quarters. Deadline did not mock him for the several visits to the medlab prior to the prank being figured out, for which he was grateful, but he could have sworn their normally somber medic actually snickered as he left. The captures that made their way to his desk the next day could only have been taken by Callsign, due to the location of his office, and the texts accompanying each one were easily discernable as coming from each of his team's members. It was the older capture included with the ones chronicling the prank which held his attention the longer. It showed the entire team mugging for the camera, the picture taken early on during one of their less formal outings "We thought something was missing from the family album!" _

**Deadline**  
They are all so intent on reaching some goal still not tangibly defined to them that it both bewilders him and drags him along for the ride. Flagship needs constant supervision during the most intense part of the training, night terrors knocking him clean out of recharge at a rate which worries Deadline until he notices that his leader slowly begins to settle down. Wildside is often nearby and says nothing, other than to offer the medic a small, quiet nod of acknowledgment before going about another of those long strolls of his, joined by another of the team now and then for part of the way where he was alone before. Salvo makes crude jokes and laughs loudly and lurks about when he thinks no one is aware, watching over them without even realizing that's what he's doing until he's in far too deep to do anything else anyway. (This would amuse Deadline to no end were he not pertinently aware that has he trapped himself in the same behavior loop, only faster than Salvo has.)

Fallout would drive herself to exhaustion if allowed in her attempts to meet expectations both real and imaginary, the hardest evaluation coming from the femme first and foremost. But when he sets limits she listens and she works on the schedule he's set for her - in return she packs every single iota of training he allows her to the fullest and deftly argues for more when she can. He grants her the freedom of the track at night sometimes, not for racing but just to idle around and she practices slow figures and curves just because she can. Her adaptation ratio to the processor augmentation process has been perfect and without any of the possible problems encountered in previous field tests and subjects, and he feels endless relief that his decisions in that matter were correct and that this particular augment won't end in the tragedy the previous one did. The memories of his last patient sometime keep him awake from recharge and he wanders the base those nights, eventually ending up at the track to watch the cycle curve slow and steady patterns, faculties clearly still intact.

Longshot has become the light of the team well before training is done, always ready to jostle someone from their worries and self-doubts, even as he relies on Callsign to do the same for him without ever realizing he does so. Callsign lives in the air now, rarely touching ground at all and Deadline fancies they can count the number of times the flier has landed on a single hand since the shield meshes were installed over his sensors. Every single one of them eventually guesses what the life of the flier must have been like before, and every single one of them cannot help but respond to the occasional appearance of the mech, shy wing waves and silent smiles acknowledged and returned every single time.

_He stands apart of them all and watches intently. He mends and upgrades and monitors and heals as best as he can and then he tries some more, not only because it is his function to do so, but because he fervently wishes to do so as well. There is no one to tell him to break instead of fix, to harm instead of help. Even by the time training nears its end he still catching himself waiting for an order he can no longer follow but it never comes, leaving him feeling off balance and disoriented until someone walks up to him to ask a question, or Longshot invades his medlab to pry him away from his work console for some frivolous outing or ten. He'd curse the black and red soundly only it's not something he does anymore and he supposes it would be hypocritical of him to do so anyway since bringing in the maniac was entirely his idea in the first place. The one time he tries to resist Longshot calls in reinforcements by way of Callsign and the sight of the large flier trying to fold himself through his office doors are more than enough for Deadline to abandon his work and follow them outside. By the time training has ended he's no longer on the edges as he'd always planned to be. He thinks this over one night and finally shrugs and moves on, accepting his own place within the team with amused resignation. Even the best laid plans can sometimes go awry. That's not always a bad thing, he's coming to realize._

_

* * *

_From Wikipedia: _Coalescence is also a term used in welding. Two (or possibly more) pieces of metal are bonded together by liquifying the places where they are to be bonded, coalescing these liquids, and allowing the coalesced liquid to solidify. At the end of this process the two pieces of metal have become one continuous solid, and if the weld has been made properly, it will be as strong as the original workpieces._

_

* * *

_

Tiamat1972: Callsign is anything but a close quarters mech, yeah. And thank you very much for your comments, btw ~ they're much appreciated. I'm starting to hit the spot where team interaction is going to be the main focus in terms of posting, but I'm well 90,000 words into writing as it stands in overall writing. The dynamics are a blast to explore and write, I can tell you that much! :)_  
_


	12. Alternatives

**Alternatives  
**_"In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns."_  
~ The Godfather

"...you're kiddin' me, right?"

"No."

"That's-" Salvo stared as the next shot not only went wide but also proceeded to ricochet against the target, sending the shooter diving to the ground for cover. "Primus. That's pathetic. And I've seen more than one bad shot in my life but-" he gaped as another shot failed to hit anywhere near _any_ of the targets, then whimpered. "Make the badness stop please. The poor gun doesn't deserve to be _treated_ that way!"

Flagship would have smiled at their walking artillery's desolation was it not for the fact that he felt rather pained about the whole thing himself.

#Fallout, that's enough.#

With a flat look, Fallout stepped back from her firing position on the targeting range and walked towards the observation booth. Stepping inside she stretched out an arm, holding the gun out for a glowering Salvo to reclaim.

"Never ever touch any of my weapons," the mech rumbled, fretfully patting the blaster she'd conceded to him. Without a word, the femme nodded then turned stiffly to walk out of the small room.

"Wait. Look, you ain't passing approval for full field work 'till you show you can defend yourself. I don't care _what_ you use." Salvo's words were categorical and he waited until he had Fallout's full attention before going on, serious and intent. "Fine - you can't shoot and from what Deadline said about whatever block it is you have about guns, you ain't gonna be shooting right anytime soon. You're slaggin' fast and you're stronger than most mechs would expect you to be. That's fine. But you need to be able to take out mechs larger than you," he didn't need to point out that was likely every mech she'd encounter while on mission, "within a klik or two and then split, or you're busted. If you can't defend yourself properly in the field beyond that, you ain't going out to start with."

"...so long as I can defend myself I'm good to go - regardless of the weapons being used?" Fallout's stiffness was fading slowly and she looked at the larger mech with thoughtful optics. Both ignored Flagship's presence, intent on each other as they were. Salvo noticed how the defensiveness was slowly seeping away and made note of it, along with reminding himself to talk to Deadline some more about it.

"Yeah. We'll get you stun batons, for one. You should mostly always be in close combat range, so that's a good standby. And a silent one. So training on that starts soon as we get a set from storage fitted to you and you'll move on to training with bossbot as well once you've shown me what you can do. But that won't be enough. You need something that'll make do for not having a blaster to work with." Salvo's optics gleamed in the observation room's dim lighting. "Find that, and I'll help you make it work with your combat style."

"Deal." Fallout was unmoving as they spoke, though it was easy for both combat trained mechs to see the new kind of tenseness in her frame. Salvo had just opened a door for her and she was eager to go through.

"Good. C'mon, let's get you rigged up with those batons then." The mech led the way, gesturing as he spoke to the smaller femme. "We should have Deadline fix you up with an in-build set or permanent sheaths of some kind," he continued, reaching down to pull up one of Fallout's arms as they walked off, peering at her wrist components critically. "Maybe he can rig 'em up with something nasty too if you need an edge..." As their voices faded away, Flagship remained where he'd been, unmoving and forgotten, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

~*~

Three weeks later she walked into the training hall and informed Salvo she had found an alternative to the traditional blaster which satisfied her. After slow but satisfyingly steady improvement in the use of the batons, Salvo was more than ready to see what she had in store to justify an approval rating equivalency for a ranged weapon. A second after challenging her to back up her words, Salvo was staring at a magnetic grenade clamped to his chestplate. Two seconds later, he noted with approval that the stun grenade made less noise than the muffled whine of her engines as she peeled away from him in alt mode. The thought 'She's already across the field, woah!' did not quite get finished before the world faded out.

Three hours later, he woke in the infirmary and smiled up broadly at an extremely annoyed Deadline before taking him to witness as he formally passed Fallout for the first phase of her combat training.


	13. Cleaning Day

**Cleaning Day  
**_"Dirt has been shrewdly termed 'misplaced material.'"  
_~ Victor Hugo

"Eurgh."

That single sound summed up everyone's feelings rather neatly, judging from the murmurs of assent from the others. Flagship found himself nodding as well, refusing to move from where he had sprawled once they were done. Even Wildside had given them all one single uncompromising look once they'd been done, and then appropriated the corner space - only to get dog-piled by Longshot and Salvo a few moments later, each determined to sound more pitiful than the other.

"When we move outta this place, we're getting like, self-cleaning systems for the new digs... right?" Salvo had a woefully hopeful expression as he spoke - it was a definitely incongruous look on such a large and armored mech, unless one also happened to regularly see him pull off the same expression when it came to the weapons locker. Which tended to happen when he _felt_ it was necessary to restock the weapons locker rather than when it was actually _needed_, at times.

"I'll put it at the top of our list of priorities," Fallout replied a touch sardonically. Wanting and getting were two entirely different thing and while they were going to have a decent operational budget... she still suspected they'd be stuck doing their own cleaning of the premises wherever they ended up settling in. And maybe Wildside could work some sort of logistics miracle for them. Everyone was strapped for resources or funds these days, which meant some luxuries came few and far between. And it wasn't like they could advertise their presence or allow anyone without the proper clearance access to their base of operations, wherever the permanent one would end up being...

Still. At least the place was clean. And with any luck, they'd be finished with training and able to move before this had to be repeated once more. Callsign at least - currently outside busy watering down the roof of the building - was having considerable more fun than they had, judging from the very enthusiastic way he'd been performing his own cleaning duties.

Outside, said flier hummed cheerfully and executed another flip as he enthusiastically dumped another load of water on the roof. A loud sound of metal giving way was not what he'd expected to hear. The silence that followed was deafening.

"CALLSIGN!"

#Er.... ooops?#

* * *

_A bit on the short side, but I'm going to try to post another story this week to balance it out.  
_

Lily Avalon - Thank you! Glad you liked Fallout's weapon of choice - it even ties into her background, heh heh heh.

Anhai - Oh my, thank you! You kinda did make my week there with that review, I have to admit. =)


	14. The Long Way Home

**The Long Way Home  
**_"Methink'st thou art a general offense and every man should beat thee."  
_ ~ William Shakespeare

The mission had been a standard one, a simple data extraction run which they'd achieved without ever being spotted. The aerial and long range backup had been useful just as Deadline had extrapolated it would be, providing Fallout with a wealth of tracking information which had allowed her to be aware of the location of every Decepticon in the small base she had infiltrated during the entirety of the field work phase of the run. Her return to the pick-up point had been just as quiet (boring, Longshot insisted) as the rest of the mission and they had left without further ado, not a single being in the base having even the faintest notion of the intrusion.

Callsign was still flying outside, providing added sensor data for the decrepit shuttle they'd resorted to use for the mission, though the looks of it had pleased Longshot enough that the argument this had generated into upon first seeing it was still ongoing afterwards.

"It's a fine shuttle! It has _personality_!" he insisted, ignoring Fallout's skeptical expression and Salvo's outright snort of disgust.

"It's a scrap heap. Oughta be smelted and put to better use," the larger mech insisted, giving the paneling ahead of him a doubtful look. "The slaggin' thing looks like it'd evaporate if you scrubbed all the rust away. No way this thing is actually flight legal, I don't care what the idiot at the base said."

"You keep talking like that, you're going to offend the poor shuttle." Longshot pouted and sulked, reaching out to pat the wall beside him gently. "Don't you mind him, he doesn't understand. You just have _character_, that's all!"

Fallout leaned back and refused to join in the discussion. Though she had to admit, Salvo did have a point. The thing really was rather... rusty.

"It ain't got character! It's falling apart at the seams! The thing's made of more fraggin' rust than metal!"

"Meanie!"

"Moron!"

"Don't you hurt the shuttle's feelings!"

"Oh for – it ain't sentient, you Pit-forsaken lunatic, would you just shut up already?!"

Maybe dimming her audios would make the bad voices go away, Fallout thought idly. Even she had to admit that the mission had been rather run of the mill and boring, but the bickering was going to drive her up the walls soon. And the walls didn't look so safe... She let them go on, though. Bickering was better than anything else they might come up with otherwise. Bickering was _safe_, all things considered. She gave Wildside - their pilot - a faint smile as he turned to give her a sympathetic glance over his shoulder, before focusing once more on the controls he was handling with the utmost of care.

"I don't care what you say, this thing's a flying deathtrap and we should turn it in to the smelting heap when we get back to base!"

A loud, shearing metallic sound followed that statement and the shuttle started a definite listing to the right.

#Er... guys?# Callsign sounded vaguely concerned. #...I think you just lost a wing there... or something? I mean... well, a chunk of the shuttle just fell off.#

Everyone in the shuttle turned to glare at Salvo.

"Wha - it's not my fault! It's just a shuttle! Not like the slagging, rusting junkpile has _feelings_!"

There was a loud, wrenching sound and the shuttle started falling like so much dead weight.

#...and I think that was the engine...#

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"

* * *

Lily Avalon: Thank you! And yep, the roof totally caved in. And it's not even really Call's fault, as enthusiastic as he was being about dumping water all over the place. XD


	15. Subterfuge

**Subterfuge  
**_"I understand the concept of humor. It may not be apparent but I am often amused by human behavior."  
_~ Seven of Nine, ST: Voyager

#Might I request your assistance for a moment?#

The voice over the comm was cool and composed, though with an underlying hint of strain which had Salvo raising an optic ridge in mild surprise as he gave Longshot a glance.

"Huh. He usually just keeps to himself unless we send someone in to drag him out..." The tank frowned a bit then shrugged and, at the enthusiastic nod of confirmation from the sniper, pinged a positive reply back at the medic. Giving the weapons they'd been going over a regretful look and a fond pat, he pushed himself up, making sure to reseal the crate they'd been going through. "Let's go check it out."

They were joined in their walk through the hallways of the temporary base by Fallout, one sensor panel shifting slightly in greeting as she fell into step with them.

"Any idea what's up?" Longshot's question as met with a diffident shrug by their second in command, who was clearly still very much lost in the data streaming process for whatever analysis she was working on. She did offer them a brief quirk of a smile though and both mechs considered it a win, considering how painfully formal she sometimes still was with all of them.

#She's easing into it steadily.# Salvo tight-linked the comment at Longshot, shooting the younger mech a reassuring smile.

#Yeah, she hasn't even quoted any regulations at us yet today,# was the cheeky reply, evident affection threading through words spoken in a mellow tone.

The medlab doorway was opened, allowing all three entry into a large, pristine room which led to several other areas. Most of them were closed off, but one's doorway stood wide open, drawing their attention.

"Ah, there you all are. Thank you for coming." There was again that oddly strained accent to Deadline's vocalizer and Salvo stepped forward first, followed by Longshot, both mechs intent on what might be going on. Neither noticed Fallout step to the side and lean on the wall by the door.

The surgical engineer staggered out of the room - the doorway labeled "Storage Room - Experimental Upgrades" - and turned around, holding something which was struggling against his grip wildly.

"GYAH!"

"What the-"

Both Salvo and Longshot gaped in revulsion at the struggling medic and his burden, and then the sight of what lay beyond Deadline had them both backing up several steps, vents cycling in barely restrained shock. A dismantled frame lay on an examination table within the storage room, various fluids still dripping from the table to the ground steadily. As they stared in fascinated dread, the frame twitched, the sudden motion followed by another, the shuddering motions combining into an agonized death rattle.

The addition of Deadline, looking up to beam at them benevolently while holding a severed, flailing arm was the breaking point.

With identical screeches of horror, the mechs turned and ran for the doorway, desperate to get away from the terrifying sight as quickly as possible. The sound of steady footsteps following them, along with a puzzle sound from the medic only spurred them on to greater speeds.

Deadline crossed through the room and leaned his head to the side to peer into the hallway as the two mechs ran away - still screaming - and grinned slowly when they turned the corner and scrambled out of sight. Shifting the large limb he held at arm's length with his primary arm set, he use one of the arms from the secondary usually housed in his sides to tweak the wires once more, flapping the hand at the departed bots in a mock goodbye.

"You are a mean, mean mech, taking advantage of them like that." After a brief pause Fallout snorted in amused recognition. "That's one of Salvo's spare arms, too. No wonder he ran."

Fallout's comment was met with a rare, slight grin and a low chuckle as Deadline unhoused his tertiary limbs, one of the arms going up to wave in an identical pattern as the sectioned limb he'd been manipulating.

"It is hardly my fault if they never realized I'd need more than one set of arms to conduct the kind of refits needed for their new shells," he said mildly, before turning around and heading back into the depths of the storage room. "Or that I'd have prototypes of their shells made first, too."

Fallout chuckled, shaking her head as she turned to follow the others - not at all intending to tease them about their reactions. Never that. Deadline's parting mutter only amused her further.

"Maybe now I'll get a little more peace and quiet while I work."

* * *

Lily Avalon: Thank you! And well, they're still in training so they're not getting the worse missions ever... yet.

Anhai: Salvo insists he's just misunderstood. ;) And you just know Callsign volunteered to catch them all, prompting everyone on the shuttle (except Salvo) to just tell him they'd use the culprit for the whole thing as a landing pad instead!


	16. Stockholm Syndrome, Only Not

**Stockholm Syndrome (Only, Not.)  
**_"Creative minds have always been known to survive any kind of bad training."  
_~ Anna Freud

Hostage situations were - even at the best of times - touchy situations to say the least. This particular scenario had not been designed to be either simple or easy however and as such, a lot of the "touchy" part of any such mission was certain to rear up its ugly head, more than once.

Still, it was a training scenario all units had to train in, and they'd "found" a volunteer to play hostage for their particular unit no less. Which consisted more of one of the few Autobot officers who was in the know about the unit seeing the scenario in progress while Flagship was working on it and instantly volunteering himself and another of the few people available as participants in the whole thing. That this had somehow also actually netted them a kidnapper as well had been considered a bonus at the time.

Since the simulation had begun things had been going smoothly enough. At least, smoothly enough when one was faced with a kidnapper which suddenly turned out to have more tactical knowledge than any kidnapper in their right processors had ANY right to have. Ever. And regardless of what anyone might want to say about the situation, the Ghosts currently on the field had determined that the mech was not only crafty and scary when it came to turning the tables on anyone, but that the dry sense of humor he was displaying and the creativity shown in the traps he'd laid for them were nothing short of downright terrifying. (Longshot might have still been sulking about it, too, had he not at least managed to wing-clip the kidnapper the first time they'd flushed out their quarry, tagging him with tracking markers at the same time. At least that meant he was too busy being smug "Take that, ha!" to sulk anymore. None of the others save for Callsign were sure that was much better, but they made do. Callsign merely cheered the sniper on, without reserve.)

Finally though, they'd caught up with their target. Solely, they all suspected - and had been informed of yet again by a smug sniper - due to the markers still merged in the mech's door wing components. Fallout had made note to thank Deadline for coming up with those, even as Salvo sang praises to the medic on their team tight link, over and over again. No one minded him doing so. They were in the process of rescuing the captive. The kidnapper was - according to sensor reports - out of ammunition to use against them. And the hostage was safely tucked away behind them, with Salvo providing the mass of his body as a shield if need be.

The low, coy giggle should have been warning enough, really.

"No! You can't take me away!" With a dramatic flourish, the hostage broke free of Salvo's hold and launched himself at his stunned kidnapper, plastering himself to the mech with a determined coo and every available micromillimeter of plating he had. "We were meant to be together! Clearly you can see this!" And then, with a wicked grin and a dramatic wail, he tacked on the final nail to the proverbial coffin. "You wretched bots are just jealous, that's all! Go away and leave us _alone_!"

The would-be rescuers stared at the scene, dumbly. The kidnapper stared right back at them, optics gleaming nearly pure white, though he otherwise remained entirely still. The look etched on Fallout's faceplates was one of clear horror, with an underlying tension unique to any bot doing their best not to laugh at the worse possible moment. (Longshot failed miserably and did in fact giggle, but thankfully it was over the tight link and not in any way which meant a non-Ghost might hear the reaction.) The hostage cooed and snuggled up some more to his kidnapper, all the while clearly enjoying the reactions this was producing from all bots in the vicinity.

#Oh, _wow,_# was all Callsign had to contribute, as he glided up from where he'd nearly crashed, rebooting anti-grav units protesting the sudden demands being put upon them.

The kidnapper's right door wing twitched irritably once. Then again.

Triggering the sludge bombs he'd set up at the most logical locations the would-be rescuers would be likely to choose - and indeed had - mostly seemed like a merciful act, at this point. The hostage, wriggling in delight, expressed his approval of the trap by squealing happily.

"Congratulations, Ghosts. You're all dead."

"Eeee! My savior! My one and only true lo-GLACK!"

"You're dead too, Jazz." There was, of course, no satisfaction at all in Prowl's voice as he shot the hostage several more times with sludge laden ammunition in the way best calculated to have him land on a strategically positioned mine or even the slightest glimmer of contentment as he eyed the results as the bot was flipped up and neatly plastered to the ceiling. By the time he was done Jazz, for some reason looking surprised at the treatment, was neatly mired in the same sticky material the others were half-heartedly trying to twitch their way out of.

"I believe this particular training scenario requires a bit more... fine-tuning."

The hostage - no longer infatuated with his captor at all, it seemed - glared and twitched and muttered Very Bad Things under the gummy material holding him pinned to the wall. The Ghosts - more than happy to let Jazz take the brunt of Prowl's not-ire - were content to remain meek and quiet. (And in Salvo's case, desperately holding back a severe fit of giggles.)

Salvaging what was left of his dignity - the only one in the field in any state to do so - Prowl stalked off towards the base to discuss further training simulations for the team with Flagship, (none of which involved him, but some which involved a certain black and white Intel officer being volunteered as a living target), leaving both Jazz and Ghosts-in-training to their own devices. After a moment's consideration he slowed his pace down, making certain not to arrive there too quickly, in order to give a suspiciously silent Flagship the time he would likely need to get himself under control.

Watching the proceedings at a safe (hopefully) distance, Longshot wisely kept any further remark he might have made to himself.

* * *

Lily Avalon: Salvo insists that Deadline had his sense of humor surgically removed. He's being a mite unreasonable. XD


	17. Reading Habits

**Reading Habits  
**_"The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,  
And all the sweet serenity of books."  
_~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sight of Deadline walking by his office door in his usual, ground devouring stride was hardly anything unusual. That he was followed moments later by Fallout, also moving at high speeds with her sensor panels flat against the back of her helm was also not entirely new and he really didn't give it much thought. Salvo scurrying along at an equally rapid pace with Wildside not far behind however _was_ something new - not because of Salvo, whom all were used to see run about for this reason or that (usually after someone, though lately he'd been seen scrambling out of Deadline's path with some measure of haste, as well). However, seeing the usually slow and steady Wildside look over his shoulder while literally scurrying away from _something _was definitely not normal.

Curious, Flagship stood from his desk and ambled towards the door of his office, expression calm save for a light touch of curiosity. He wasn't hearing anything alarming on the team channel - which was perhaps quieter than usual, he supposed - so it wasn't like there was anything truly serious to wor-

"It's HORRIBLE!"

With a start, Flagship half-turned, the motion placing him in exactly the right way for a blubbering Longshot collapsing in his arms with a sob.

"How could he DO that?! The sparkless bastard just left after promising-" The sniper's words dissolved into nigh incomprehensible bawling and Flagship - acting entirely by reflex - gathered up the red and black in his arms, patting his back soothingly while trying to figure out exactly _what_ was going on and who he had to kill to make it right again.

Right up until he caught side of the lurid picture flickering on the romance holo-novel Longshot was waving under his nose while giving him the most spark-rending look he'd ever seen the mech manage. (And considering it was Longshot, this was saying quite a bit.)

The words 'Callsign said you'd understand' did stand out from the rest of the unintelligible babble coming from the devastated mech.

Still patting Longshot's shoulder while making soothing noises, Flagship slowly turned his head, carefully eyeing the expanse of sky outside his office window from the corner of his optics.

#CALLSIGN!#

With a gleeful "eeep!" the watching flier flipped around in mid-air, waggled a wing cheerfully at his victim and jetted off for safer heights.


	18. Rainy days

_**Rainy Days  
**"Men, in whatever anxiety they may be, if they are men, sometimes indulge in relaxation."  
_ ~ Cicero

"Hey, watch it!"

"Eurgh, move that - do not want to know where it's been-

"Close-ups are bad. Really bad!"

"If you'd all quit squirmin' so much, maybe-"

"Longshot, stop fondling me and-"

#Ow?#

The entire pile of mechs froze in a heartbeat. Longshot's voice piped up from somewhere within, careful and light and concerned.

"You okay there, Call?"

#Oh, I'm fine. I didn't even feel a thing.# The largest of them all beamed at the pile sorting themselves out carefully around him, optics shining brightly. Though usually leery of anyone coming near him, the combination of storm and three mechs obviously seeking his company had mellowed the flier's usual fears of contact. #But it seemed like a good way to get you all to stop moving so I could-# the soft-spoken flier peered down a moment then reached out to prod Salvo in the side ever so lightly, eyeing them all as though they were a puzzle to solve, #figure out what you were trying to do.# More pokes followed, Wildside shifting with an obliging rumble and Longshot giggling while trying not to twitch whenever a ticklish spot was discovered. Soon Callsign had them all relatively figured out, or at least was certain he could see enough of them to know that they were all comfortable and able to see the screen which had been set up in the large and rarely used hangar bay on the far side of the base while he settled his angular frame around them.

"Hey. Nice goin', Call." Salvo rumbled in approval and carefully shifted a bit more, settling in comfortably against the shields wrapped around Callsign's side with a smug smile. He'd set up the screen a few days ago and had been waiting for the right time to announce his plan. Of course, the only time Callsign would ever be driven inside was during particularly stormy days and though having to wait and be quiet about what he'd done had nearly driven him insane, Salvo had somehow managed. The light in the shy flier's optics upon seeing how the hangar had been set up had made the wait more than worthwhile.

"All right, everyone set?" Various sounds or words of assent confirmed the question, and without further ceremony, Salvo waved a remote. The lights in the room dimmed and the large screen in front of them sprang to life. The Ghosts settled in their new lounge room, already cheering out catcalls as the vid title started to scroll on screen.


	19. Perception

**Perception**_  
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."  
_~ Helen Keller

It had taken some time for Longshot to realize something was slightly off about how Callsign maneuvered when grounded, mostly due to the fact that the flier spent every possibly moment in the air, going so far as to hover in recharge whenever he could get away with it. The large flier had attempted to explain it once, even landing to allow Longshot to examine the resonance of the shield mesh covering his form while he moved about in his awkward gait, but the sniper had still been left with the nagging sensation that there was something about Callsign's condition which remained just out of his grasp.

The next step – talking to Deadline – had been the only logical path to follow. What had ensued had yet again redefined Longshot's respect for the medical engineer's genius, right up until Deadline had tried to explain to him the nuances in how Callsign's sensor specifically interpreted… touch.

"Wait. You mean his sensors don't map data properly unless the shield mesh is there to filter out the noise, right?"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. His sensor mapping ability was never flawed, quite to the contrary. His abilities in that domain are superlative. He is… phenomenal in what he can accomplish, if allowed to do so without having to constantly filter unfathomable amounts of pain." He paused, primary hands moving to clasp behind his back. "Callsign's direct sensory management program was corrupted at the very core, affecting a very precise portion of his sub-routines. There never will be the possibility to 'patch it' or affect any sort of repair on the code itself. The previous medical experts who delivered the diagnosis were quite accurate in their assessment of his condition." The sniper noted how tightly controlled Deadline's voice was as he spoke, even more so than usual. Far more so than usual. And while he normally would have stopped, never would have wanted to cause the remote mech any more pain than he was already dealing to himself, Longshot also knew it was important he understand what Deadline was trying to clarify for him.

"I don't understand…" He trailed off, fighting off a numb sense of foreboding creeping through him.

Deadline looked at him for a moment, as though the depth of Longshot's distress was only now finally clear to him, drawing him out of his own dark thoughts to look at the sniper with an indefinable glimmer of an emotion in his optics. He somehow seemed almost gentle as he continued, putting words to the dread coiling tightly within the sniper.

"In order to allow Callsign the ability to fly without restriction, I had to look at something other than his sensory management program to resolve the issue. Thus, the shielding mesh he was equipped with essentially removes his ability to experience somatic sensation." The surgical engineer paused, waiting a moment as Longshot processed what he was being told. "In order to fly and be able to perform his primary function, Callsign lives in a state of permanent tactile anesthesia."

"He can't… _feel_ anything…" Longshot whispered the words, an aching desolation reflected within his optics as he shook his head slowly in powerless denial, moving backwards until the wall stopped his motion.

"No. He does not. For the entirety of his existence, Callsign will either experience extreme agony, or nothingness. There will never be any other sensation for him."

Silence reigned between them, stretched on as Longshot looked down without any further word until Deadline turned away and started to walk towards his office in order to offer the other some privacy and a chance to regroup.

The sound of something creaking, metal slowly giving way to pressure stopped him though and with a flare of comprehension he whirled about and lunged for the sniper, snapping out a sharp command.

"Stop that." The medic seized Longshot's hands in his own, holding the trembling fists until he resorted to slipping delicate, sensitive fingertips through the sniper's own in order to break the tension and stop the mech from damaging himself.

"Longshot…" A low, muted whimper answered him and Deadline tightened his hold on the other, ever so slightly. "You must understand. What you view as an unfathomable loss… to Callsign, the ability to not feel anything at all is a _blessing_." There was no hesitation, not a single iota of doubt in Deadline's voice as he spoke, and Longshot found himself clinging to each word and to the utter certainty of the conviction behind them as though his very spark depended upon it.

"Since his very first moment of awareness, all Callsign ever felt was endless physical agony. And the result of this not only affected his primary function to extreme degrees, it also made him a social outcast, compounding the pain to an emotional level as well. It is a wonder he did not go insane, or attempt to end his existence." He stepped in closer as he spoke, preventing the sniper from twitching away as such a stark statement, to somehow deny what had been an everyday reality for the gentle flier. "Callsign does not regret his decision to join us. He treasures being able to fly without pain. He thrills in having a purpose, in being able to fulfill his function, in being part of a social unit which values him and his contributions while allowing him his idiosyncrasies without judgment." Still the sniper looked down, and though he kept clinging to Deadline's hands, the edge of desperation to his grip seemed to have waned. "And he is grateful to have found a friend such as you."

Longshot looked up then, optics wide and vulnerable, shaking his head once more as though to deny the words that had just been spoken. And where his own hold slackened, Deadline's tightened, not allowing the sniper's hands to slip away.

"Come now. Did you truly think," Deadline asked, with a touch of asperity, "that he did not find as much worth in you, as you do in him?"

The lost look to Longshot's expression shattered at that, denial slowly replaced by bewildered acceptance, anguish easing into the beginnings of understanding. Finally, he bowed his head slowly, leaning forward until his helm came to rest wearily upon Deadline's smooth chestplate, muffling his whispered words.

"Thank you."

* * *

Lily_Avalon: After his refit, Callsign became the largest of them, due to the great amount of additional sensors added to his frame and the installation of the shielding mesh components (and redundancy systems for the back-up systems thereof) which also required a fair bit of size to be added to him. His arms and legs also tend to form the bulk of the external edges of his alt-mode, hence him being described as gangly or awkward the rare times he's in root mode. =)

* * *


	20. Schooled

**Schooled  
**_Mrs. Murphy__: What did you learn in school today?  
__Dade Murphy__: Revenge.  
_~ Hackers__

The sounds of battle were still omnipresent in the distance, though thankfully they'd left the worse of the battle zone some time ago. A usually fairly peaceful quarter, the industrial area in which they'd been operating had been turned into a war zone not long ago when Fallout's mission had been completely and thoroughly foiled by one of the slum lords' operatives. This had sparked a series of nasty encounters followed by no less than three declarations of war amongst the criminal elements of the sector - not exactly what they'd set out to do, to say the least. The ensuing extraction had been an interesting sequence of spark-stopping events and the team had been able to pause to re-assess the situation only after reaching their third safe point. As they waited in the shadows, under cover of scramblers and dampeners alike, Salvo cycled his vents once more, overheated coils and circuits still frantically trying to settle back into some semblance of normalcy. He and Wildside had pulled off their part of the job perfectly at least, both prepared for such an event but neither having had to do so on an actual mission up until this one. Next to him Wildside did the same, though his expression was considerably calmer than Salvo's, quiet satisfaction radiating from him instead of frustrated annoyance.

The femme he was holding tucked against himself like so much spare luggage did not speak nor move, letting the much larger brawler's systems cool down while she reviewed the details of the mission, trying to pinpoint the exact moment things had gone wrong. Considering the scene they'd just barely escaped from, they were lucky they hadn't given themselves away, had been her first conclusion. The mission had failed, but the back-up plan which had been in place just in case things didn't work out hadn't. Amidst the stream of data and ongoing analysis, Fallout had to admit she was grateful that they'd all made it out relatively unscathed, considering how badly things could have turned out. Possibilities, alternate scenario outcomes and percentages floated through her processors, each more dire than the other, until Salvo made a slight gesture at Wildside who - after checking to make sure he still had a solid grip on his very un-protesting second in command - followed him as they left, keeping out of sight as they moved out of the district.

~*~

".. when the alarm was triggered I received a data packet from an unknown source. I didn't have time to look into it so I stored it away in a compartmentalized and secure memory module of my data net and called for extraction."

The reports from all active team members had already been scanned through several times, but Flagship still preferred to get verbal reports as well. It was considered old fashioned and unnecessary by many, he knew, but he'd still impressed this preference on his team as a whole and they'd adapted to this by integrating the habit into several facets of their own work as well.

"I spoke with Salvo and Wildside while Deadline went over you and extracted the information you were sent." Though the mission had failed the extraction had been smooth and picture perfect - he had nothing else to add there. "Deadline said he'd have whatever it contained decrypted in a while. The encoding was fairly esoteric," he added pensively. Fallout shifted slightly, a clear sign of her discomfiture at how the mission had turned out. Finally she gave in, cocking her head to the side in a silent query. "He had to ask for some help."

"Really?" The expression of surprise escaped her unwittingly and Flagship had to smile at her reaction. "...we have access to rather specialized programs and technical resources," she continued a touch defensively, and Flagship was yet again reminded of how - regardless of her current expertise and knowledge - she was still so very new to this assignment and her rank compared to many of the long time participants in the seemingly endless war they were engaged in.

"Apparently, the encryption didn't follow anything like baseline encoding protocols one might expect-"

"-and if I ever get my hands on the slagger who wrote this, I will make him a desperately unhappy mech," Deadline finished the sentence as he stalked into the office, biting out each word with peeved precision, the door shushing shut behind him as soundlessly as it had opened seconds before. He flipped the disc he'd been using to isolate the data on Flagship's desk with disdain, features cold and haughty. At Flagship's look of inquiry he shook his head. "I didn't review the contents. After dealing with that code, I thought I'd just come down here and_ share_ the joy with you all." The black and blue settled into a nearby chair, not quite flopping yet somehow still giving the impression he was indulging in some sort of massive sulking fit. If one could sulk in a dignified way.

After a moment Flagship picked up the disc and slipped it into a console separate from the main systems in his office. There was no sense in risking a security breach when it was so easy to set up isolated units. The holo display it was linked to flickered to life and a blocky, generic and suitably anonymous mech model sprang into miniature life as a pre-recorded message began.

"Hahaha! You lose, ya sorry aft-sucking slaggers!" The miniature mech turned to lean over, slapping his aft merrily to make his message clearer - or so Flagship supposed. "Mess with the best," the taunting voice went on, "die like the rest!" After a final flourish ending in a stunningly offensive gesture, the mech bowed grandly and disappeared, the message kept from looping on itself when Flagship leaned forward a touch desperately to stab at the console in order to shut it down as quickly as possible.

"Oh my." Deadline was staring at the now quiet holo projection unit with a vaguely astonished air about him. Feeling slightly stunned himself, Flagship managed to look towards Fallout while hoping his second wasn't too piqued by their thorough defeat.

After a moment, he managed not to smile, feeling entirely reassured as to his second in command's disposition. The grinding sound emanating from her stilled but, judging from the murderous gleam in her optics, Flagship had a feeling a war had just been declared.


	21. Incandescence

**Incandescence**_  
"Our most important decisions are made while we are thinking about something else."__  
_ ~ Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms (1985)

It had taken them longer than expected to retrieve the sniper from the planet's surface, due to the snow storm which had sprung unexpectedly shortly after the signal for recall had been detected. The meteorological conditions had gone from unpleasant to catastrophic quickly enough that all of them were on edge, worry for Longshot pushing consideration for standard landfall precautionary measures to the limits. The craft they had obtained temporary ownership of was sturdier by far than the last one, thankfully, and with luck they managed to land within a mile away from the sniper's location despite the still lingering remains of the storm buffeting them about during the landing. The extraction team had to peel Longshot out of a cocoon of ice which he'd used as protection from the harshest phase of the snowstorm, but his systems read clear and it was with some relief that they brought him back, their departure easily hidden under the still rampant panic and unrest which had taken over the planet's communication grid since the assassination of the local Decepticon military force's leader.

Their return to the temporary set-up they had established on one of the moons orbiting the planet had been executed as quickly as they dared. Longshot was nearly frozen through, joints grinding with every motion until Salvo picked him up and carried him the rest of the way, but otherwise intact and his mission an unqualified success.

Deadline was less than pleased at his condition when they delivered the sniper into his care.

"His processes are still extremely sluggish. Nothing truly dangerous obviously due to the plating and insulation we customized in consideration of the planet's erratic weather systems, but the next time he has a mission of that nature in such extreme conditions, I expect a longer margin of time to prepare him fo-" Pausing in the middle of his request, Deadline didn't move for a moment, before slowly looking down, a mystified expression replacing the annoyance which had been there ever since the sniper had been brought back.

"Deadline?" Following his gaze, Salvo grinned slightly at what he saw - only because it was safe to do so as Deadline was still looking down at his patient, rather than at him.

"The cold clearly has affected him." The surgical engineer reached down to tug at one of the limbs now firmly wrapped around him, bemusement still predominant in both expression and voice. The sniper's modified plating creaked ominously in reaction and vents cycling in a resigned sigh, Deadline shrugged slightly. "I suppose I am the closest source of heat..." With a put-upon expression the medic stopped trying to unlatch Longshot from where he'd somehow managed to settle himself and went back to his work, meticulously scanning each system and sub-system of the frozen mech's frame while prepping him up for the first of many structural integrity verification procedures.

Neither noticed the tiny smile playing along the edges of Longshot's lips as he clung a bit more tightly, faceplates safely hidden against the medic's midsection.

* * *

**Lily Avalon**: Thank you! =) And yeah - Salvo and Wild are the extraction team and the overall combat oriented bots if things go bad and they are indeed terribly protective of their team mates. It's also important to note that while Fallout can handle herself and is heftier and taller than the average femme, she is still considerably smaller than a "traditional" combat mech and her function _isn't_ combat - it's infiltration and data retrieval and analysis (with heavy, heavy emphasis on the analysis). And heh heh - more on that mysterious mech in coming chapters!


	22. Learning Curve

**Learning Curve  
**_"Human beings are designed for many things. Loneliness isn't one of them."_  
~ Mary Alice, Desperate Housewives

#Deadline?#

#Yes, Callsign.#

#Um... I have a question...#

#Of course you do.#

#Why is Fallout away?#

#Because I sent her away. She was showing signs of cabin fever and clearly needed the downtime.#

#...what?#

#One moment, please.# A pause. #Meet me at Hangar Bay 3, would you?#

#Okie dokie!#

~*~

The flier hovered at the edge of the landing field outside the Hangar Bay 3, amusing himself by raising puffs of dust from the surface of the ground at the edge of the tarmac, the fluctuations in his anti-gravity fields shifting as needed to keep the larger clouds up in the air as long as possible.

"That is rather unorthodox," Deadline observed calmly as he made his way to join the flier - he did not worry about surprising him, having no doubt his location was one of the many, many things the other mech kept under constant watch through the plethora of sensors he was equipped with. The flier shifted, unperturbed by Deadline's comment and nudged another cloud of dust a bit higher up as the tight-link he'd established earlier with the medic pinged to life once more.

#It's fun. So why is Fallout away?#

"To explain this, I will need to refer to your own social interactions. Are you comfortable with this?"

#Yes.#

"Very well. For you, isolation is something which you consider relatively normal. In fact, it was something you learned to find preferable due to the generally injurious quality of your interactions with most, prior to becoming one of us. As such under your current circumstances, the presence of the others in the unit alone fulfills your need for social contact easily enough." Deadline looked toward the horizon, noting how the flier remained quiet. His next words were gentle - far gentler than any other on the base had ever heard him speak. "But there are too many of us still for you to deal with all at once for too long. Which is partially why you choose to stay aloft as much as you can, beyond simply being able to fly without experiencing pain. You are still learning to add a variety of social interactions to your most basic of communication patterns."

#You let me. Stay away sometimes, I mean. Fly a lot.# Though Callsign wasn't shrinking in on himself as he'd often done during his early days with the team and with the medic, his voice was still a touch unsteady. Deadline gave him a calm, quiet look and continued nonetheless.

"Yes, I do. I expected you would need time to adjust to such a drastic change in everything you knew and advised Flagship and Fallout accordingly. We all anticipated that you would need to stay in the air as much as possible, as well, until you were certain you ability to fly would not be removed. Thus we agreed to simply let you adjust your behavioral patterns in the way which was most comfortable to you, while monitoring your mental and psychological state along the way." Deadline slid the flier a look. "You're doing fine, evidently. You come to us of your own accord fairly regularly, and are able to interact without any evidence of resurgent trauma."

The flyer hovered nearby, the dusts of cloud having settled to the ground somewhere since they'd begun to talk - he'd gradually shifted closer as Deadline spoke, not quite touching him but lingering nearby nonetheless.

#Thank you. I like flying. And... I like the others!# The flier paused and listed to the side, just a bit. #I like them a lot. And you too.#

"I know. But liking and speaking through the communications systems still isn't the same as being exposed to us physically on a daily basis. Hence, your need for distance more often than not, still." The urge to reach out and pat Callsign was near overwhelming, but Deadline repressed it easily. While it would be comforting on some level for him to do so, the flier still had no positive experience to touch, and never would - and any comfort the gesture would bring the medic was irrelevant. What mattered was that Callsign accepted that the others enjoyed being near him, particular on the few movie nights Salvo managed to set up now and then, but to the flier, touch was still something to be avoided as a baseline behavior and survival pattern. The habit and the reflexes attached to it were just that deeply ingrained.

#...no. I guess it's the same. But no one seems to mind and they're always happy to see me. And - I wouldn't... not be able to see them anymore would make me sad.# The last words were spoken quietly, and Deadline suspected that particular admission was still recent - and fairly terrifying - for the flier. He left that alone, giving Callsign more time to integrate that particular concept.

"Indeed. You've achieved a balance which suits everyone, yourself included. That is what we were hoping for."

#Okay. I understand that. So why is Fallout away?#

"In terms of social interaction, Fallout and Longshot were among the most active of us, before joining the Ghosts. Their social interactions with others were constant, varied and on spread across several levels of physical relations. They had the most active inter-personal contacts as well. It's quite natural they would be the first to feel the effects of the isolation being part of our unit involves, due to the nature of our work and the lack of dealings we're allowed with most of... well, everyone else. But each and every one of us knew that such a thing would be necessary, to preserve the secrecy of our work." Deadline paused, tilting his head to the side slowly. "I confess, I truly expected Longshot to be the first to require some downtime. Though in retrospect, his natural gregariousness translates better into a unit setting than Fallout's tendency to self-isolation due to the pressure and formality she imposes upon herself as our second in command. After all, she had a far wider social network and support system before she was recruited as a Ghost. Furthermore, she wasn't part of a command team beforehand - her professional interactions were therefore different and more established, as well. Having a new function to learn and ease into as well as modifying every interaction on a different level..."

#Salvo says she's so stiff sometimes she has a-#

"Yes, I know," Deadline interrupted the flier hastily. The flier went on hurriedly; openly eager about making sure Deadline knew Salvo hadn't been only critical.

#He also says she's settling into it good, better'n most green officers he's had. He said one of the SICs from that other command team she and Flagship go see sometimes off base is a good influence on her. He teases her about it a lot. She never minded before, though.#

Trust Salvo to perfectly balance a negative with a positive and then destroy it all by driving a bot to distraction the very next moment, Deadline thought, not quite smirking. The flier giggled, apparently guessing what the other was thinking with little effort and didn't push any further as to the identity of any other Autobot who might (or not) know about the Ghosts, beyond those the unit already knew about.

#Oh!# The flier rose a few feet, trembling slightly as understanding finally settled in. #I get it. Maybe he should have waited till she'd had some downtime before he teased her about that? And more time to deal with what happened with that hacker on the last mission?#

"Perhaps he should have," Deadline conceded, remembering the event which had prompted him to assign some vacation to Fallout a bit earlier than he'd planned to.

#Or... do you think he also did it on purpose, so you'd send her off to relax some?# Callsign sounded curious more than pensive, and Deadline suspected that something else Salvo had said which Callsign was not telling him about had clued him in to that fact. That Callsign could begin to understand and extrapolate such nuanced social interactions was what Deadline had been hoping to see during this conversation - their flier was indeed settling in, and he was glad he would be able to report as much to Flagship. Fallout would also be glad to hear of his progress, upon her return.

"I would not be surprised at all if he had done so on purpose." Deadline was not smiling as he said this, though from the way the flier tilted to one side then the other, slowly, he knew his vocalizer had somehow given him away to the other's hyper-sensitive sensors yet again.

#Fallout's going to be okay.#

"She will be perfectly fine. And likely will attempt to present apologies to Salvo upon her return."

#He won't let her. ...Salvo's lots smarter than he lets on, isn't he?#

"While he's as usually about as subtle as, oh, a megaton proto-nuke, I must confess that in certain situations Salvo can be highly intuitive. Particularly when it comes to how others process on an instincti-"

An explosion in the distance broke the conversation sending the flier up in a straight line to investigate. The report did not take long, nor was it any surprise to Deadline.

#Um. That was the firing range.#

"And sometimes," Deadline sighed, "Primus save us all, Salvo is an utter moron."

#Hee. Yep! Longshot says Salvo blew himself up again.#

"Fancy that. I am stunned." Deadline continued, a withering tone creeping into his vocalizer. "Absolutely, positively _shocked_."

With a dark mutter, the medic shook his head and headed off towards the firing range at a brisk pace, Callsign tagging along high above, giggling merrily over the open team channel as Longshot gleefully described Salvo's current predicament (stuck in a mound of dirt, with only his wildly flailing legs sticking out) to the rest of the team. Wildside had no qualms about sounding thoroughly amused as he chimed in, asking Deadline if he wanted him to come over and dig Salvo out. Again.

Once Longshot was done taking many, many captures to give to Fallout on her return from her enforced vacation, of course, they all concurred.


	23. Recruitment

**Recruitment**_  
"There is no 'I' in team."_  
~ Vernon Law

"I won't be enough for the kind of infiltration field work we've been planning lately." The words had surprised them all, except it seemed Flagship and Deadline. To hear their second-in-command so plainly admit to being lacking in some way wasn't something any of the others expected to hear, well... ever. All had to admit though that something had been weighing on her ever since their first failed mission. Fallout had always admitted her failings honestly enough. Even if it was only to turn around and practice until she got whatever it had been right, with Deadline sometimes knocking her out to make sure she got some recharge time, as he had done with every single one of them during their most intense bouts of training. But she'd never before even hinted that she wasn't _enough_.

"I know Intel is usually composed of a single bot out in the field, and we already turn that around by working as a team unit instead through the use of long-range data, varying fields of expertise and combat back-up... but we need someone else. I need a fieldwork partner." She paused, as though finally saying out loud what she'd been working herself up to say still felt surreal. "I see no other way if we're going to make this team be what it is truly meant to be. Every single operation we've taken on recently with me on the field would have been optimally served by the presence of a second agent present, particularly one with a specialization to complement my own abilities." She paused. "This has become more evident to me of late, particularly when it comes to the proper deployment of my own type of enhancements."

The pained tone to Fallout's voice was enough to make Salvo frown dangerously and Wildside straighten up a bit, no longer quite so affable or serene. Longshot was shaking his head slightly in negation and the sound of Callsign's sensors whirring and clicking in confusion could be heard by them all, echoing in light, clear cast pings through the room. Deadline still didn't say a single world, merely leaning back in his seat while observing the team's reactions.

"What do you suggest, then?" Flagship stood tall, looking as though not only he'd expected this statement but also as though he'd actually guessed when it would come. For all they knew, perhaps he had. Their leader had been looking like that more and more lately, as their training neared its end and the missions assigned to them took them deeper into enemy territory, or off on longer and more dangerous missions. They no longer questioned it though, still too intent on cementing the bonds growing between them and integrating the new dimensions added to each of their innate abilities as a result of the settling confidence in their teamwork.

"We need someone else other than myself for actual field work," she repeated herself, that she would do so alone a clear sign of the effect this was having on her to all in the room. "Someone smaller than I." Even though she was taller and bulkier than most traditional femme models, Fallout was still the smallest of them, by far. "Someone street wise, unconventional. An extreme lateral thinker who won't follow procedure as a reflex, but rather work from his own instincts first while giving the rules a thought if he's so inclined. Someone who doesn't think like a traditionally trained field operative. Someone with a very specific set of skills and expertise when it comes to compromising information networks." They'd never expected her to say they needed someone who would emphatically disobey the rules if so inclined, but she never hesitated as she said as much and her conviction was clear. Each also knew without a doubt that the tone of her voice had nothing to do with the rules being broken, and much more with her dented pride at not being able to fulfill the field operative role entirely on her own.

The urge to protest was written in the lines of every mech in the room, to various degrees, save for Flagship and Deadline. The first seemed satisfied while the second merely indicated his agreement with a short nod, a clear sign that he'd known what Fallout was going to say beforehand. The satisfaction on their leader's faceplates seemed to grow with Longshot's frown and the grumbling coming from Salvo. They could all tell Wildside was dying to reach out and pat the stiff and solid shoulder of their second-in-command, even as Deadline leaned back, offering her a brief, thin smile of amusement. It wasn't hard for any paying attention to him that the usually restrained mech had known this was coming and had predicted every single reaction around him. But before Flagship could ask his next question - the only question - Fallout had already tilted her head to the side slightly, one sensor panel flicking in a silent command to bring life to the screen behind her.

"I already have someone in mind." There was the briefest of pauses before she went on. "But I'll need everyone's help on this." A mech's features sprang to life on the screen, information scrolling next to the picture.

"WHAT?! But! That's _him_!"

The tenseness disappeared from her frame at Longshot's outburst, and her expression shifted towards mild reproof as he kept spluttering in protest. Before she could put words to her reproach however Flagship started to laugh, long and loud, not even trying to hide his amusement. It didn't take too long for the rest of the team to join in on the hilarity, except for Longshot who kept pointing at the screen while protesting in incredulous indignation. Salvo actually leaned forward to whoop in laughter, slapping a hand down on the conference table. Even Deadline sat back and looked ever so slightly smug, instead of keeping to his usual emotionless mask.

"HA!" Frame still shaking with laughter, Flagship shook his head - the selection made sense, but it still showed how twisted his second's sense of retribution could be. He supposed this was one way to get even, well enough. "Do I get to tell him what we thought about his first audition when we reel him in?"

"You can tell him whatever you want," Fallout said, not quite managing to hide a glimmer of something deeply satisfied, "so long as I get to be the one getting his signature when we catch him."


	24. Reciprocation

**Reciprocation  
**_"Kid, don't threaten me. There are worse things than death, and uh, I can do all of them."  
_~ The Plague, Hackers

The hacker curled up around the cord from which he was suspended, twisting in a desperate frenzy. The local slumlord's enforcers were right on the other side of the door and he suspected whatever passed for the law was close behind (if they weren't already pounding at the door _with_ the enforcers already doing so, anyway). He had no idea how they'd all suddenly converged upon his location but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his current interlocutor. Maybe it also had something to do with the fact that he'd been playing several sides of the criminal elements in this district against each other for perhaps a bit too long, as well, but he preferred to not reflect on that particular detail (nor the implications, which were all gory, painful and extremely final.)

"Look, ya maniac! Yer supposed to be savin' us civilians and all that slag, right? Well, chopchop! Get to it an' START SAVIN'!" he snarled, shaking one small fist furiously at the shades of grey figure standing at easy attention a few feet away from him. Another crunching sound resonated in through the room and the single door leading within crumpled a bit further.

"Technically, I should put you under arrest of some sort," the femme mused, tilting her head to the side as she inspected the much smaller mech, then looked back down at the data pad she held in hand. "Do you _really_ have a turbo-rat alt mode? That wasn't anywhere in your profile," she murmured with a fascinated undertone to her voice, apparently entirely unaware of their imminent doom. "That must be very useful... And breaks nearly fifty-three regulations that I can think of off the top of my processor." She straightened up, looking at him disapprovingly. "You've been a very bad mech." The chiding undertone to her voice made it entirely clear that she was unimpressed with him for that.

An indignant sputter laced with an impressive assortment of swear words greeted her comment and the femme's optics dimmed before she peered down at her data pad, flicking open a side screen to take down a few notes. The smuggler stopped in mid-tirade as he realized exactly what she was doing. "Spank me with a spanner...you're glitched. I'm gonna die here, with a glitched femme quoting regulations at me and takin' notes on cussin'..."

"Well..." Pulling out another data pad, she ticked off a few items with clawed fingertips, then flipped it around (and upside down) for the smuggler to read. "Hmm. If you truly want help, I suppose this might work. If you'll just imprint your electronic marker here?" She beamed at him, even as a support beam fell to the floor nearby, the dust whirling about them and briefly cloaking the walls of the room from their view.

Looking at the enlistment form gleaming up at him steadily from the datapad, the smuggler gaped in disbelief. "You... you..."

"You'll need to confirm the release forms for the medical procedures as well," the femme said helpfully before moving the data pad into his range. "Oh! This would also actually help us resolve the little matter of your alt form breaking regulations," she added wisely. "It's entirely all right if we're the ones sanctioning your alt mode for official purposes, after all! Well. Unofficially so."

"...I hate you." With a vicious snarl, the hacker slapped away at the datapad, his signature pinging away sullenly on the form a moment later. Fallout accepted the signed form, pleased. Tucking it away safely in slim case which was then stashed away in a hold, she reached up to help her new partner untangle himself. Noting his strained attention on the door - which would soon give way - she decided to give him a break.

#Salvo? Wild? Why don't you come on in and say hi to our new teammate?#

The sight of two mechs crashing through the far wall, one whooping wildly in glee and the other serenely ambling away, didn't really do much to calm the hacker down, though he did at least freeze from the sheer shock, giving Fallout ample time to finish disentangling him. And it certainly gave those who had just broken the door down a moment or two to stare in surprise before a cheerfully howling Salvo and a disturbingly serene Wildside mowed them down.


	25. Symmetry

**Symmetry**_  
"There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly."_  
~ R. Buckminster Fuller

#So, what's Deadline's alt mode, anyway?#

A few heads rose at the question, some noting that Deadline's connection to the team internal comm channel read "Away" and others just turning around to give the sniper a curious look. Wildside took another sip of his energon, noting how Fallout peered over the edge of a datapad and tried not to look as intrigued as the others, even as Salvo paused from his current bout of sulking and leaned forward with clear and unabashed interest. And anything which might distract Salvo from the fact that his triplechanger upgrade had been reallocated to their newest recruit was good, as far as Wildside - and everyone else in the room - was concerned.

#What makes you ask that now?#

#Well, we've never seen him transform, have we?#

The sniper's questions was casual enough, if one wasn't aware (or hadn't heard from a greatly amused Salvo) about how Longshot had been finding more and more ways to linger about the medbay of late. The conversation continued on the same topic, with various theories brought forth, until finally the bot in question chimed in, apparently having rejoined the channel with no one noticing.

#Why are you all talking about me and what is this about?#

#Um. Longshot was wondering what your alt mode is.#

Salvo leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what the response might be. Silence followed, the pause in the conversation drawing out until Deadline spoke.

#...I suppose I should just get this done and over with.# The resigned cycling of vents accompanying the comment was almost audible over the comm channel.

Longshot's whoop of glee definitely was.

~*~

"Well? May I return to my work now?"

Silence answered the question, the gathered bots still staring in stunned silence. Callsign peered in from the large window bay on the far wall, hovering in place. Salvo's optics widened and the mutter "He had another color hidden in his frame! Frag me, that a Sentax shade, too..." was the only thing to break the silence.

It was enough for most of the Ghosts to be jarred out of their shock and stare at him curiously, until the front liner just shrugged embarrassedly and muttered something about being good with colors. The others reacted with good-natured teasing, though most still stole the occasional glance at Deadline as he patiently waited for them all to get over the novelty of his alt mode.

"Guh."

Longshot however, staring at the black and grey vehicle gleaming against the gun-metal surface of the hangar bay, was still failing at speech. (Much later on, Salvo would gleefully translate the sound as the Longshot equivalent of "Take me now, I'm yours!")

"As articulate as ever, I see." Deadline's voice was dry enough to compete with the barren surface of any desert planet.

#Pretty!# Callsign's contribution to the conversation was cheerful and enthusiastic (as usual).

"How... did you end up with an alt mode like that?" The sniper's hands wavered in the air, shifting in delicate - and definitely on target - curves and strongly defined lines.

#Longshot!#

"But! He's so-"

"You needn't sound quite so stunned." Deadline spoke with a touch of annoyance to the words, though the y all knew it had far more to do with being pulled away from his work than anything like his (non-existent) vanity being affected. "I made the critical miscalculation of letting Jazz choose an alt-mode for me while I worked on my basic structural frame, giving him only the basic markers I required for my own augments and modifications." The next sound was definitely a snicker and likely originated from Fallout. Somehow, the luxurious hovercar oozing elegance and style managed to look defensive. "There was hardly anyone else to assist back then and I wanted to get to work on your refits as quickly as I could. I knew they were going to start bringing some of you in soon."

#Oh wow. You let _Jazz_ pick? Really?# Callsign's comment radiated with awe.

"That's what Flagship said when he first saw it..."

"Um. That explains a lot I guess." Longshot stared some more. "Guh." A sharp, metallic sound followed. "HEY! What'd you do that for?" The sniper glared at Salvo aggrievedly, rubbing the back of his helm.

"Looked like you needed a little help there, pal." Salvo grinned wickedly, ignoring the sniper's retaliation (at shoulder level) with insulting ease.

The hovercar's engine purred, the sound both rich and smooth and warm and every bot in the room stared a bit more as Deadline moved towards the doorway, transforming to his root mode as soon as he was close enough that walking was faster.

"Well then. I have a patient in recovery and have work to do."

Silence reigned once more in the hangar bay as the door shushed closed behind the medical engineer, everyone still staring at the door. Fallout and Wildside followed soon afterwards, each also citing work to be done, the former already tapping away at a datapad to refine the plans related to their next mission before she even turned out of sight, the latter pausing only long enough to grab an inventory form before heading for his office. The remaining mech shifted and stared at one another, until Longshot broke the silence.

"You wouldn't think when looking at him in his root mode, somehow."

"The six arms are a bit creepy." Salvo shuddered, remembering only too well the medlab "incident" not too long ago.

#They're not!#

"Okay, Call, okay... But, wow. That hovercar mode..."

"Guh."

"...yeaaaah. That."

#Pretty!#

"That too."


	26. Integration

**Integration  
**_"If someone says 'can't', that shows you what to do."  
_~ John Cage

"No! Ain't happenin', not doing it, an' you can't make me!"

"Er... you do realize that's why we brought you in to start with, right? The whole identity change and frame refit?" Flagship wasn't quite ready to mention the triplechanger cog. Yet. Salvo - wherever he was - would find a way to hear and be reminded that he should be sulking. And then the rest of the team would glare at him or something.

"I don't care! I am NOT working with that stuck-up, know it all-" Shortfall spluttered for a moment, at a clear loss of which insult so select which suited his partner best. It has been the first training simulation he'd been put through since Deadline had released him from that little shop of horrors he claimed was a medlab. And then they'd shoved him into some insane test sim involving a maze from the Pit, Decepticons shooting at them and lightning based traps. LIGHTNING! And his partner, as it turned out, was a speed-junkie with a death wish when she wasn't busting his aft with a plethora of rules Shortfall hadn't even known existed up until she brought them up. Finally, unable to settle on picking just one insult, Shortfall settled on waving his arms wildly to make his point clear. "NO! She's insane! And you'd think someone shoved a stick the size of freakin' Unicron up her exhaust when she's not being insane! It ain't normal! And this ain't gonna work!"

And with that, the mini-bot stormed out of the room, leaving a mildly appalled Flagship to stare at the door whooshing gently shut behind him.

"Huh."

Perhaps this required a visit to the medlab in order to clarify matters.

~*~

"Hold on a nanoklik! You did _what_?"

"Blew up the grate."

"Wait. The grate covered with charged with Primus knows I can't even remember because that's how big the number is amounts of voltage?" He lifted a hand hastily before Fallout could tell him exactly what the number was. "The one we've been used to simulate the grate on that Decepticon base that's charged by using the planet's natural lightning storms? _That grate_?"

"Yes." Fallout beamed at him through a cracked combat visor, thoroughly pleased with herself. "I used one of my normal charges and changed its protective field with two oppositely charged stun grenades then tweaked them to radiate on a different frequency to create a disruption in the natural flow of the lightning based energy used in the grate. It worked quite well!"

"Oh. Interesting!" Flagship straightened up, no longer quite looming over his SIC. And then frowned. "Wait. What were you thinking?!"

"I suppose this would be an appropriate time for me to point out that they did get out with minimal damage and completed the simulation successfully." Deadline peered critically at some of the scratches and dents on Fallout's right side and then dismissed them all as minor before returning his attention to her cracked and slightly distorted combat visor. "In fact, Shortfall had nary a scratch though one would think he'd been fatally wounded from the way he was complaining once they were done..."

"And Fallout never managed to beat that training sim on her own, before!" Salvo chimed in from the corner he was occupying with a wide, approving grin. "She always got toasted at the grate each time!"

Fallout waited until they were done playing peanut gallery to give Flagship a rare, thoroughly smug smile. Even Salvo's relish at the mention of her always failing at the grate in every previous iteration of the sim was gracefully ignored.

"It wasn't my idea. It was Shortfall's."

"..."

"Flagship, brace her neck would you? I don't want to use anything that might set off residual explosives and the visor's construction requires either use of a laser to section it off or knowing how to slide it out of..." Deadline hummed and placed a still staring Flagship's hand on one side of Fallout's head then tapped his arm until the mech braced her solidly.

"Technically," Salvo added helpfully, not quite cackling, "it wasn't his idea, Fallout. He dared you to do it." He snickered cheerfully. "Okay, he should have _known_ better than to give you the numbers to do it with on top of it all, but yeah. That was definitely a dare."

Fallout gave Salvo a reproachful look, which lasted all of two seconds until Deadline took firm hold of the edge of her combat visor and pried it out with a final sounding snap.

"Ow."

"Next time land better," the medic admonished her, turning the visor over in his hands to study the damage done to it and the amount of deformation it had incurred in the blast. "Also, I'll need to remove the first layer of your visor's housing slot," he traced the side of her helm, "here and here. You damaged the gears and relays in the explosion."

"Okay! So, when can we run the sim again, Salvo?"

"I'll have it ready by tomorrow."

"Perfect. Deadline, I'll need some of your time later to customize some of my grenades to compensate for the requirements needed to disrupt the energy flow protecting the grate long enough to deliver the charge through. It'll make for a smaller explosion as a result, which would be a better result considering the speed we're coming in at."

"Of course."

Flagship cycled his vents and revved his engine to a mildly annoyed growl for a moment, just to get their attention.

" I just came down here because Shortfall just stormed out of my office in a huff swearing to never set foot in another simulation run with Fallout again. What are you going to do to get him back in there, dare him to do it? And while I'm at it, how about- huh. You know..."

Flagship stared ahead a moment and then grinned in harmony with Fallout and Salvo.

"That's not a bad idea at all," Fallout murmured with a considering look on her faceplates. "I think I'll try that."

"He'll be in that sim faster'n I can shoot him in there myself," Salvo opined. Flagship smiled faintly and tried not to look as though the mental image might be appealing.

"When will the sim be ready?" Flagship did not look eager. He was making a point not to. "I think I'd like to watch this time."

"Tell you what, I'll comm you when we're ready to go." Salvo grinned and pulled out a datapad, opening the sim's configuration file to peer at it critically. "Hey, actually... wanna help me add a few variations while I'm resetting it? Shortfall kept heckling Fallout while they were going through the maze to get to the base. I think he thought it was too easy for her."

Flagship stepped over to the other mech and clapped him on the shoulder with a wide smile.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Lily Avalon: All I can say is, Longshot certainly won't contest any of that. XD And thank you!


	27. Reallocation

**Reallocation  
**_"Shop smart. Shop S-Mart."  
_~ Ash, Army of Darkness

_Decepticon Base. 8__th__ Quadrant. Fourth planet, third moon._

#Wow, you really don't get any more out of the way than this dive, do you?#

#No kidding, it must suck to be them. Wonder how long they've been waiting for this delivery?#

#You people STEAL SUPPLIES?#

#Wow, he sounded kinda happy there. Gleeful even. Did you hear the squeak?#

#We steal supplies? We do? We really do?#

#HA! Just like home, isn't it, midget?#

#I was not a _scavenger_, thank you very much! An' don't call me midget!#

#This isn't scavenging, this is merely a creative reallocation of essential resources. Now, let's pay a little attention here, shall we? Power stabilizers?#

#Check!#

#Coil assembly relays?#

#Got 'em good!#

#I can't believe you do this...#

#It _is_ cost effective. Waste Flush Vents? Wait, those are only used in outdated systems nowadays, why do we need-#

#I don't wanna know and they didn't have any.#

#...I am so very relieved. Phase compensators?#

#Yeah, got the whatsis. Found some extras even.#

#I think we're done, then! Let's clear out.#

#We should leave a thank you present. It's only polite.#

#Seconded!#

#....ok. I like that idea. Maybe this isn't such a bad gig.#

#And we've been a democracy since when?#

#Aw, c'mon! Just one little present? Teenie eenie?#

#Fine. Make it quick, we're going to be late for the next outpost.#

#Wooo! Play time!#

#You are all so juvenile. Also, that's not how you set a trigger if you want it to be selectively weight sensitive.#

#Hey, if you're goin' to just stand an-#

#Oh, give me that. We might as well do this right. And if we're going with that as charges, don't forget to take all the containers on the shelf over there before we go.#

#Hee hee hee!#

~*~

_A few days later..._

"Um, sir?"

"Don't tell me. We're out of compensators too."

"They just seem to be, well... all gone?"

The cringing mech's commander snarled audibly this time, turning on his subordinate with a furious expression.

"And how, pray tell, are we suddenly out of nearly _half_ our supplies?! Including the Pit be damned compensators?!"

"They just seem to have vanished, sir?" The purple symbols glinting brightly and angrily at him from his superior's shoulders made it clear it wasn't the right answer. "Um. If it makes you feel any better, a delivery came in last shift and we finally got the flush vents? So we can try to turn the waste system on again instead of having to shovel all the sludge the cleaning system has been dumping outside by ourselves..."

"I am thrilled beyond words." The flat reply left no room at all to doubt exactly how thrilled the commander was. "Now we can activate the waste system. The system so old we must be the laughing stock of every Autobot in the known universe. My joy knows no bounds. Truly, this is a day to be remembered as-" A slow, sudden smile spread across the Decepticon's face as he eyed the mini-bot before him. "We can... test the... waste system..."

"Eep!" Without even waiting to ask how the testing would actually proceed, the mini-bot turned and ran for it.

"Oh no you don't! We need a volunteer to test the new waste system and you're IT! Get back here right this instant do you hear me?"

Even on the run as he was, the mini-bot was too light to trigger the paint grenade neatly tucked away in the middle of the courtyard.

Unfortunately, the unit commander chasing him down... was not.

His subordinates did assure him that the color scheme he sported for quite some time thereafter suited him most admirably, though the newly tinted neon green and pink mech found it very hard to believe them.

And at least, the other Decepticons agreed, that finally explained why all the paint solvents had been taken too.

* * *

Lily_Avalon: Salvo won't get one - war and tight resources make it so, really. Which means Shortfall is getting chased down for slights imagined and real for a loooong time. And Longshot is all about putting ideas in anyone's head. /sheepish


	28. Infiltration

**Infiltration  
**_"Creativity can be described as letting go of certainties."  
_~ Gail Sheehy

Longshot observed the smallest mech of their unit, walking around the increasingly nervous hacker while making small, pensive sounds. Shortfall knew he was safe, compared to say if Flagship or Fallout had been looking at him like that. Or Primus _absolutely_ forbid, that psychotic surgical engineer with the very unfortunate name of Deadline. Longshot was the nice, naïve one of the bunch after all... right?

"Yeah. Yeah, we can get him in," was the final conclusion, even as he turned to give Salvo a beaming smile. "We're gonna need one of Salvo's heavy bore 'splosive shells, though. And I'm gonna hafta modify the outer core to give it the proper rotation." Longshot waggled his fingers in the larger mech's direction, mimicking the way Salvo tended to fondle any ammunition he could call his own. In return, Salvo nodded amiably and had actually withdrawn one of the larger shells from his ammunitions rack before his processors caught up with him. He paused, then pulled it back protectively, cradling it carefully to himself.

"Why?" Salvo asked, giving the lanky mech a suspicious look.

Longshot started to answer then tilted his helm to the side. With a quick, whip-like motion he reached out and snagged Shortfall by the back of the neck, re-enforced fingertips clamping down solidly on plating to ensure there would be no last minute scramble for safety. Shortfall eeped in surprise and tried a wiggle or two to see if he could get free, suddenly entirely sure that maybe, just maybe, Longshot's apparent naiveté was perhaps outweighed by his insane need to do justice, or whatever that whole thing of his was really about. Whatever it was, he read far too many holo-novels for his own good.

"We're gonna torpedo the rat in, 'course!" Longshot beamed, knowing the simplicity of the plan (and the thought of shooting Shortfall from a canon) would appeal to the ground pounder.

"Oh." A slow, broad grin appeared. "Okay, you can have it then." Salvo handed over the shell with no fuss at all, only reaching out to pat it once while Longshot tried to get a good, single armed grip on the monstrosity. Shortfall was admiring their complicity with grudging approval, right up until a mental image of what had been proposed flashed across his optics.

"Wait... WHAT?!"

The shriek was heard across the entire base.

"Yanno, for such an itty bitty mech, you sure make a whole lotta noise..." Longshot peered at the indignant mini-bot he was now holding at arm's length.

"I think Fallout would like to watch," Wildside rumbled peacefully.

"THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE DEAL!"


	29. Acquiescence

**Acquiescence  
**_"Your worth consists in what you are and not in what you have."  
_~ Thomas A. Edison

The alarm set on her office console still pinged at the corner of Fallout's HUD patiently, the blinking warning beating in rhythm with her footsteps as she walked down the corridor. That she'd been expecting this particular break-in explained why she was in no rush, and she suspected the offender would have no concept of the time by now if he was indeed reading the file she'd set the redundancy laden warning system on. Considering where they were and what office console had been breached to get to them, Fallout knew this was more of a hit and run type heist rather than anything relating to subtlety.

She walked into her office, the doors obediently closing behind her just as quietly as they had opened moments before. The sight greeting her nearly brought a wide, satisfied smile to her face - for all that she'd been expecting this moment, getting to actually _see_ the expression on Shortfall's faceplates as he found out about the entire operation meant to bring him in as one of their own was an unanticipated bonus.

"You..." he pointed at the screen he was still reading, eyes never moving away from it even as he acknowledged Fallout's presence. "You set me up," he murmured faintly, the pointing digit shaking slightly. He sat down on the desk with stunned expression, arm falling down to rest at his sides as he took in the information displayed before him. "I mean, I _knew_ there was a set-up, but - the whole thing... the whole _operation_ was just to set me up and bring me in! Everything! You even played the slum lords against each other so that I wouldn't get killed until you were in place to extract me!" He turned to look at her, optics wide and still blank from sheer shock. Fallout suspected the truth of the matter was something he'd never even contemplated before, never mind expected to find in her mission files. He frowned suddenly, leaning forward on the desk to crawl on all fours hastily towards her, stopping only when he reached the edge. "You," he said, pointing accusingly at her this time, "used my own encryption sequences to lock that file down!" He gaped at her indignantly. "You set me up _again_! You knew I'd have to look at it the second I saw my own code there! You... you... YOU!!!"

"Aft-sucking slagger?" she completed for him helpfully, drawling out the words lazily. The expression on his face at the double combination of her throwing his own words back at him and swearing at the same time was a sight to behold and Fallout nearly gave in to laughter then and there. The half-furious, half-delighted squeak that he finally managed to emit in reaction broke her resolve enough that she couldn't repress a snicker of a smile for him. "What can I say?" She half-bowed at him. "I couldn't stand for the thought of having anyone but the very best as my partner, of course."

Another thunk came from the desk as Shortfall sat down, hard. Fallout's smile softened a touch, slowly growing into something more natural and genuine as she studied the small mech on her desk. "Gotcha," she murmured softly, turning her back on a still astonished Shortfall to leave the office.

~*~

#Um... Fallout?#

#Yes, Call?#

#Is Shortfall okay?#

#What do you mean?#

#Well... he's standing in front of the window near the landing bay and...#

#Mmmm?#

#...he has the stupidest expression I've ever seen. S'kinda cute. Only, you know, scary, since it's Shortfall and he doesn't do cute?#

#He's fine, Call. He just found out how we set up things to, ah, recruit him. You can keep an optic on him if you want to, but I think he's taking it well all things considered.#

#Oh! Ha ha! I guess he is! Cause that's one goofy smile he's got going!#

#Really? Hmm. Snag a few captures while you're out there, please?#

#Can do!#

* * *

**Lily_Avalon**: Thank you! And the thing with writing a series of vignettes is that some inevitably end up being shorter rather than longer. You'll be happy to know the next one coming up clocks at over 2000 words though, and some of the much later story arcs are also in that range, if not longer. =) On another note - Shortfall will never, ever be able to taunt Salvo now and then. Heh heh.


	30. Infestation

**Infestation**_  
"I don't like spiders, okay? Their furry bodies, and their sticky webs, and what do they need all those legs for anyway? I'll tell you: for crawling across your face in the middle of the night. Ewww! How do they not ruffle you?"_  
~ Willow, BtVS, Nightmares

"They're gone."

"Huh?" In what he considered a very useful habit, Shortfall pretended to be interested at all times. That way, there was no chance he'd lose out on the possibly interesting tidbit of information hidden in the deeply boring things most people had to say. (Sometimes though, his version of sounding interested didn't quite match up with the rest of the universe's version thereof. In those instances, Shortfall usually informed the universe it was wrong and went on his merry way.)

"...the reports. The ones I put on Flagship's desk. They're _gone_." The look in Fallout's optics promised murder and mayhem. It was always the quiet, polite ones that you had to look out for, he reflected.

"Don't have it." As a reflex, he made sure that the datapads he was currently roosting on where all his (yep, yep, Longshot's, yep, yep, Salvo's, yep and check!). "Hey, if you're going to blame me I-"

"Why," Fallout slowly turned around to give him a look of supreme annoyance, "would I blame _you _when you just said you didn't have it?"

"Er... sorry. Reflex." He even felt sheepish as he apologized. For all that he had a new shell, and nifty second alt mode (which Salvo was still sore at him about as the triplechanger procedure had originally been meant for the combat mech and maybe he should return that data pad of his sometime soon) and people who actually well... believed in him, Shortfall still tended to fall back on old habits now and then when in a tight spot. These decidedly odd bots he'd fallen in with made it really hard to live by his previous set of acquired instincts though, and he'd be upset with them were it not for the fact that, well, it was just getting harder and harder to _stay_ annoyed at any of them, lately. Even if they _had_ shot him into a Decepticon base using a canon. (It had actually turned out to be kind of fun. He would never, ever admit as much.) And Fallout was still staring at him. Patiently.

"Er. Want help lookin' for 'em?"

"That would be lovely! Thank you!" Annoyance turned to beaming approval in a heartbeat and Shortfall had the nagging feeling he'd just been thoroughly played by the straight man of the team. Again.

~*~

"Huh. I think they went this way..." Shortfall's voice echoed out of the vent he was inspecting, sounding more than a little confused. "Hmm..." He poked his head out of the vent and stared at the desk on the other side of the room contemplatively before ducking back inside the depths of the ventilation system. They'd looked in all the obvious places, everywhere the data pads normally could have been placed and come up with nothing. The slightly askew vent had been kept for last, neither of them actually bringing it up even though they'd both noticed it early on during their search. Even when they'd finally only _had_ the vent to look over, they'd said nothing. Just stared at it together for a while before heading towards it purposefully, Shortfall activating his (still new) magnetic clamps and testing them out to get to the vent opening while Fallout pried the cover out of its moorings and set it on the ground carefully.

"This still doesn't explain _how_ the data pads made it up there all on their own," Fallout pointed out reasonably. The tone of her voice suggested perhaps she didn't want to know how they'd ended up there, though by now both suspected a prank from one of their more comically inclined brethren in the unit. "One would think Longshot would know better than to mess with my reports with what happened to him the last time he did that."

The comment drew a snort and a muffled snicker from the petro-rat inspecting the vent, the echo redoubling in on itself briefly before settling. It had been the last (and only) time any of the team had even considered going near one of Fallout's reports, in fact. And though Shortfall hadn't been present at the time, he'd heard enough about it from Salvo (and remembered his own first introduction to the 2IC still far too clearly) to stay away from any report that bore her signature. Another snicker escaped him (not a giggle, nuh-huh) as he padded deeper into the maze of the ventilation system running through the old base.

"You're giggling again." Fallout's voice was fading with each step he took further though he could still hear her clearly enough - a few more turns and they'd be switching to the team channels he still hated to use. That she was respecting his lingering discomfort with the system and still using speech was something he'd have to thank her for, someday, he thought idly, turning another corner.

"I don't giggle. And yeah, still no - eurgh..." He paused and lifted a pede, inspecting it in the darkness. "Eurgh!"

"What?" Fallout's voice was patient enough, considering it was her reports they were still looking for, but the awful calmness of it boded ill if the mention of something horrible happening to said reports came up Shortfall knew. Thankfully (sort of) it wasn't the reports generating that reaction from him.

"Stepped into some weird sort of gunk. Wait, lemme add a few filters to my visuals here and - EURGH!"

"What!?"

"The gunk is lining the whole vent system from this point on! What the slag is this stuff?"

"Use your systems to run some primary analysis and-"

"I know, I know! I actually remember I have these now, thank you! This is just... really disgusting," he finished quietly, leaning forward to peer more closely at the material glimmering at him through the filters he was using to observe it. "Yeah - look, I'll take a sample and we can see if Deadline can make some-mgmlrf!!!"

"Could you repeat that, I didn't quite hear-"

"MRGNLFFF!"

#Use this channel, Shortfall. It's just the two of us on it. What's going on?#

#The wall just pounced on me.#

#...the wall?#

#Fallout? Let me repeat this, just so we're clear. The wall just pounced on me,# Shortfall said reasonably, before switching tone entirely, #AND IS NOW GNAWING ON MY WHEEL PRIMUS GET IT OFF!!!#

#...oh dear.#

~*~

#Get it off.#

#Shortfall, calm down. I'm doing my best to get to you and-#

#OFF! NOW!#

#Really, you have to be reasonable here-#

#I WILL SHOW YOU REASONABLE YOU OVER-#

#I think it just likes you, that's all.#

#...you are an evil, heartless femme and I deeply and intensely HATE you.#

Fallout leaned out a bit more from the ventilation shaft exit she was occupying, the same gunk which had been lining the vent Shortfall had originally found gleaming on her shoulders and arms, the remnants of her own trip through the vents. The mini-bot was in the center of an air distribution room located deep within the ventilation system, busily glaring up painful and dire retribution at his partner. The odd, jelly like shape which had snagged him and dragged him back to its lair purred at him even as it submerged him further, leaving only the petro-rat's head to stick out of the mass of sticky goo which the creature seemed to be composed of.

#Don't you dare take any captures. Just... don't!#

#Oh! They're here!# Fallout beamed at her partner and wriggled an arm free to point beyond him at the pile of data pads carelessly strewn about in a corner. Each bored its own share of goo and further inspection showed that a few had odd dent marks upon the edges.

#Um... this thing doesn't really have teeth, does it?# There was a definite edge of renewed panic to Shortfall's question and Fallout had to admit it wasn't entirely without cause. He _was_ entirely covered in the stuff, though it did seem mostly busy purring and cooing at him...

#I don't see any?# It was biological, nothing Fallout had ever even come across during any of her data streaming and it looked inoffensive enough. Even if it was able to bot-nap a mech and handily drag him to its lair.

#Look. I'm tryin' to be reasonable about this. Really, I am. I'm not shootin' up the place or anythin'. I'm not even shootin' at you! See how reasonable I'm bein'?# The minibot's accent thickened as he spoke, a full body twitch now and then revealing he was still trying to struggle his way to freedom somehow. The mass of goo continued its hugging and purring unabated. #But even an eminently reasonable being like me has limits yanno and-#

A loud, startled yelp interrupted his diatribe and the astonished mini-bot stared as his partner did her level best to bolt out of the vent she was still half-inhabiting. She scrabbled at the edge as she peeled herself out of the passageway with impressive dexterity even for a femme, sliding down the wall of the central room for a few feet before literally throwing herself to the opposite wall. Magnetic clamps sealed her in place with a dull sound of metal on metal and she stared up towards the opening high above them with wide, slightly horrified optics.

#There's something else IN THERE.# It was the first time she'd raised her voice since the whole misbegotten adventure had begun and Shortfall figured if he hadn't been panicking already, that particular moment probably would have been a good time to start doing so. She shifted so that her back was to the wall, magnetic clamps sealing and unsealing as they adjusted to her nervous motions.

#Oh. Really. Ya don't say?# Sarcasm was such a wonderful way of expressing one's panic, he thought dimly. Then stared as she unclamped one pede from the wall and angled it toward him, twisting to present the edge of a thruster for his inspection.

#It wasn't gooey.# A neat row of needle like punctures lined a portion of one of the rims, gleaming under the filters he was using to see in the dark. Whatever had done the damage had literally gone through the metal, he realized.

#Um...# Without a word, Shortfall turned to inspect the dent marks they'd seen earlier on the data pads in the corner. #...yeah. Those match.# Briefly, he wondered what in the universe the data pads she used were made from, then dismissed the idea entirely. He did not care in the least what happened to the data pads, all things told.

It was then that a slow, rattling hiss drew both their attention towards the top of the room, even as something started to uncoil from the ventilation shaft Fallout had been occupying moments before.

#...that ain't goo.#

~*~

#Duck! Primus, move faster already!#

#DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SMALL A SPACE THIS IS!?#

#ACK! YOU JUST STEPPED ON ME! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST-#

#I'm trying not to get gnawed to bits thankyouvermuchewitbitmeagaingetitoffgetitoff- that's it.#

The creature screeched loudly as it charged once more, loops of serrated coils streaming through the small room as it chased down the femme scrambling desperately to stay out of its grasp. The goo hummed and cooed and held on to the mini-bot through the whole thing, clearly oblivious and uncaring of the monstrous creature doing its best to catch the fleeing femme. To Shortfall's utter shock, however, Fallout suddenly stopped in her tracks (technically, having wedged herself in the upper left corner of the room) and gave the bug-like creature a flat look. She reached for her side and palmed something from one of the cargo holds concealed there, activating it at the same time. The high-pitched whine it emitted was disturbingly familiar.

#This ends now.#

#...Fallout, that's not what I think it is you're holding there, is it?#

#Power down your optics,# was the grim, uncompromising reply, even as the femme activated the bomb and threw it right at the creature's gaping maw.

~*~

#...Did I mention I hate you, yet?#

#It's the twenty-third time now in the last breem, actually.#

#I can't believe you used a bomb.#

#Whatever that thing was, its armor was solid enough to buffer the blast.#

#I can't believe you actually made me dig out the last of those data pads too.#

#I dug too.#

#I still hate you.#

#I dug _you_ out, too.#

#AFTER THE REPORTS! YOU DUG ME OUT AFTER THE FRAGGIN' REPORTS!#

#You were fine. Your systems checks were all optimal for the situation. The reports might have been damaged!#

#That thing could eat through your plating and couldn't even do more than dent the things! They were FINE!#

#...huh. Really? That's interesting. I should look into what they use to make those. Maybe-#

#DO NOT CHANGE THE SUBJECT!#

#-we could use something similar for additional plating on some missions-#

#Don't even try to distract me slaggit I won't be distracted! I ...that kind of plating'd be good for Callsign maybe, you think?#

#Mm-mmm. And Salvo. ..you dropped a mandible there. I think it's a mandible?#

#I am not picking that back up do _not_ give me that look I refuse to - oh FINE!#

With light, careful motions the mini-bot retraced his steps, leaned down carefully and picked up the bug part which had peeled off his armor, looking down both ends of the hallways discreetly as he did so. The disposal units were two corridors away and the wash racks one more block beyond that. Fallout, still patched into the base's camera system, motioned an all clear for them to move on without witnesses. The two bots, covered in baked and vaguely insect-like bug parts shambled on carefully, trying not to leave any trace of their passage behind.

#...let's just get rid of this stuff covering us and hit the wash racks, ASAP.#

#I concur.#

#You slaggin' well better.#

#If you ask nicely, I'll even pry that antenna out of your back plating.#

#...I hate you.#

#Now that wasn't very nice.#

#...Fallout...#

#Yes?#

#...please pry that antenna out of my back plating when we get to the wash racks?#

#Of course I will.#

#Also? I hate you.#

#I'll even help you get the hardened goo out of your joints.#

#...maybe I hate you a little bit less now.#

#I thought you'd say that.#


	31. Authentication

**Authentication**_  
"Change is inevitable. Change for the better is a full-time job."_  
~ Adlai E. Stevenson

"So," the black and white mech sprawled on the chair facing Flagship's desk smiled genially, "they seem to have come along pretty well. With the odd mishap happenin' now and then." The smile grew slightly and Flagship had no doubt that a recent (and very unofficial) mission report had everything to do with it.

"They are." The quiet pride in his voice was ill-concealed, but then again he could afford to let as much show to Jazz, he supposed.

"They've all adjusted admirably well. Some even better than expected." Deadline didn't move as he spoke, wreathing the far corner of the room in shadows. "Callsign in particular seems to have taken to his new life with surprising swiftness, considering the length and depth of the trauma he endured previously."

Jazz's features darkened at the reminder. He remembered the horror in Deadline's optics only too well when he'd realized exactly how much pain Callsign had been subjected to at every moment, before they had brought him in for refits. It had been one of the few times the former Decepticon's composure had been utterly broken. The only other time Jazz had seen so much emotion from the mech was when he'd been originally extracted from behind enemy lines and brought over to their side and the events of that day were something Jazz preferred to avoid thinking about, if at all possible.

"He was one of the mechs we were the most worried about. All the others had varying reasons to adapt to this unit's purpose, a drive that ensured they would mesh well as a group regardless of how different they might be in terms of character. But we didn't have the same on file for Callsign," he admitted, knowing he was only confirming the profiling Deadline had done for them originally anyway. "Anyway - seems it's a moot point now. He's found his own place in the group well enough."

Neither Flagship nor Deadline responded to that one, but from the sudden lightening in the room everyone agreed. The team had taken to Callsign just as emphatically as he had to them, really. The depth of the fierce protectiveness the large flier had generated had been unanticipated by the observers, yet was approved of entirely.

"I notice some of your notes on file are a bit dry," Jazz murmured, sliding Deadline a sidelong look. The mech shrugged slightly in return, unfazed by the scrutiny.

"What needs to be stated is on file."

Jazz hid a smile at the reply, though in his estimate team integration went far beyond the bots outside the office.

"Right then. We're ready to make this official 'n all, I think." And because he knew it was the one thing foremost on their processors - as well as the rest of the team's - Jazz smirked. "Besides - it's about time we got you out of this hole and found you a proper fancy schmancy secret base of operations, dont'cha think?"

~*~

"This is a high level meeting?"

"Yes." Flagship's reply was filled with patient amusement. His second had been just a bit on edge since the news had arrived that it was time for the Ghost Unit's formal transition from training to fully active black ops unit. Which included an introduction to the Powers that Be - the few of them who would be allowed to know about them, anyway. The rest of the team had not quite slammed the doors of the base while shouting 'Good riddance' as the two had left for the Hub. (But it had been close.)

"And you can't tell me who will be in attendance other than Jazz, because so far he's been our sole supervisor at Intel since the unit's been set up." The femme slid a sidelong look towards her commanding officer, even though she already knew what the answer would be. "Since we don't exist."

"That's right."

"He's recruited you for his 'Relax, Fallout!' torture campaign, hasn't he?" She was only half-joking he knew. Though she'd been terribly unsettled by the saboteur at first, she'd started to take their more extravagant link with the rest of Intel more in stride as time went by. That Jazz insisted on dragging a smile from her on every visit likely had something to do with it - it was impossible to remain entirely composed when that particular mech bent his full attention on breaking someone's solemnity. Flagship only chuckled in reply and after a last half-smile, Fallout resumed peering intently at one of the several data pads she carried. Flagship had no doubt she was likely processing an equal amount of data directly from the Hub's public net as well, in order to try and remain composed.

As they cut a line through the crowded hallways of the Hub, the femme took another ground eating stride, having adapted to walking by larger mechs not long after she'd figured out how to walk in her new shell. Sometimes Flagship suspected it had more to do with going faster rather than slower being natural for her more than anything else. It still didn't help half the time when dealing with some of the more over-sized mechs which were prevalent in the service, but then again she was hardly the only smaller bot any of them had ever had to work with either. Both sides adapted and a compatible compromised was inevitably reached - it just usually happened to involve Fallout walking faster rather than slower. Though her current pace likely had a lot more to do with the meeting they were heading into, he had no doubt.

"You need to slow down, is what!" The cheerful catcall heralded the arrival of a third member to the little party, though this one drew far more attention within a few kliks than the two Ghosts had since their arrival. Sidling in between them to clap each of them on the shoulder (one higher than him, the other lower), Jazz beamed at them.

"Please tell me I'm not his latest pet project?" The mock-pleading tone to his second in command's voice only caused Jazz's smile to grow wider as he waited for her superior officer's reply. There was no doubt he enjoyed the interaction, and that Fallout doing her best to get out of things each time only made the whole endeavor that much more fun.

"That would be lying," Flagship answered gravely. Fallout did not quite look as though he'd spoken her death sentence. Right up until Jazz smirked at her and she managed to dredge up a somewhat passable smile for him in return.

"I like walking at this speed, I'll have you know." Though she didn't shrug the hand off her shoulder, the thought 'ugh, get it off, need to look professional here' practically screamed out at both mechs. "I'm _relaxed_ walking at this speed. Fast is good."

The only response to that argument was laughter, Jazz releasing the both of them to move ahead smoothly as they finally arrived at their destination while mercifully not taking the easy line she'd just offered up. One of Fallout's sensor panels twitched slightly, something the entire team had quickly learned to read as either restrained irritation or amusement - and sometimes both.

"Tell you what. You take a moment to get all composed an' stuff, and I'll go introduce the two of you, mmm?" With that, the white and black mech slipped through the doorway and out of sight. Flagship paused at that, staring at the door pensively. Fallout twitched.

"...that's not reassuring. Do we have to let him do that?"

"Yes. And Fallout."

"What?"

"Don't throw that datapad when he comes back out to let us in."

"...spoilsport."

* * *

Khareesa & Chibi-Veneficus: Thank you for the comments! And Shortfall ain't seen nothing yet. Heh heh! Ahem. ;)


	32. Shock Therapy

**Shock Therapy**_  
"He's very clever, but sometimes his brains go to his head."_  
~ Margot Asquith

"That's it. I've had it."

The mini-bot parked in the middle of Fallout's desk - the corner not covered in container units or various datapads collecting the entirety of the unit's location transfer authorization files - glared up with a disgruntled expression, clearly daring Fallout to disagree with him in any way. (That she didn't even know what he was going on about made that a touch hard to achieve in any reasonable manner, but she suspected that was part of his plan.) Being that the fastest way to find out what was going on was to ask, Fallout did just that.

"All right. ...why?"

"Not why! What! All of you have something nifty or useful to defend yourself with if you get stuck in combat. Now," the mini-bot tilted his head to the side, smiling ingratiatingly, "granted I have my quick thinking to rely on so the odds of me gettin' caught are NIL, but - what am I supposed to do if against all the odds inna universe, I _do_ get nabbed by someone during an op? Eh? Eeeeh?" Scrambling forward suddenly he jabbed one finger in Fallout's face, optics gleaming. "NOTHING! That's what! I get caught, I'm toastier than a bug on a plasma core! And let me tell you, I ain't liking that, not one bit! And-"

Leaning back in her chair and raising her hands in a placating gesture of surrender in an effort to stall the rest of the rant Shortfall had clearly been nursing while on his way to her office, Fallout nodded.

"All right. You do have a point, I admit." He did, inasmuch as he didn't know what Deadline had been working on since the hacker joined the team, having mostly consulted Fallout and Salvo in that regard as both had had reservations about Shortfall's self-defense options in the field right from the start. Neither had wanted to spring the concept on the mini-bot until he was ready for it, considering the implications. But technically, the new base's medlab was up and running. In fact, thus far, everything was going exactly according to schedule for their transfer to the new base, which made Fallout extremely happy. Happy enough to even add sorting out Shortfall's request to her list of Things to Do during the move. (It had been a very long list. One which had possibly even required more than one datapad to create.)

"Well then. I'll see what I can do - wait. I am curious... why am I the one talking to Deadline, instead of you?

The mini-bot sat back down with a small thud, arms crossed while managing to look far more sheepish than sulky.

"...'cause he creeps me out."

Which explained the entire scene in her office, right there. Fallout, wisely, did not laugh at the admission.

Not until Shortfall had left her office, anyway.

~*~

"So, he just agreed?"

Flagship tilted forward slowly, optics scanning over the data the medical console he and Deadline were crowding over.

"He did. Hrm. Perhaps not entirely accurate a statement. Fallout explained the system to him once I gave her full access to the schematics and he showed up at my medlab at the correct time. I presume that would be an agreement to the procedure on his part, particularly since he didn't scuttle away at the sight of me waving surgical instruments at him."

Flagship snorted quietly at the other mech's thin smile, shaking his head.

"I really don't get why he's so nervous around you. It's not like you ever casually threatened to gut him like you do everyone else if the-" Flagship paused and turned to look down at the surgical engineer very intently staring at the life signs flickering steadily on the console. Which was, now that Flagship stopped to think about it, one of the very few consoles on the entire base (their new and shiny base!) which had yet to have been modded in some way by the hacker. Just as, further inspection proved, every other console in the medical lab had yet to be changed in any way.

"...baaad, Deadline. Bad."

The surgical engineer smirked and patted his console proprietarily. Having someone on the team who actually took him seriously when he issued idle threats was so very pleasant.

~*~

"You knew he was plannin' this."

Shortfall, arms crossed and one again firmly seated in the middle of Fallout's desk glared the glare to end All Glares. Leaning on the desk Fallout stared back with a quietly commiserating expression.

"You did ask for an upgra-"

"BRZZZZZZZZZZT!"

The sound of the integrated taser system going off in the office was loud enough to drown out the rest of the femme's words. She winced in sympathy.

"Ow."

"You know, you could just go _ask_ Deadline how the system functi-"

"LOTS OF OW!"

Glaring from his curled up position on the desk, Shortfall twitched once more. Fallout did not laugh.

"Or if you'd like, _I_ could go to the medlab and ask Deadli-"

"Don't you dare!!! Imma figure out how to control this damn shock system _on my own_ and them imma _get you all_. That's how this is goin' down." The mutter was low yet fervent, the hacker glowering in feral determination. Fallout had no doubt he was entirely aware of the betting pool going on in regards to how long the process would take, too. At least, she reflected, he was motivated. Hopefully he would figure it out soon - she'd laid odds on the shortest of the time frames currently present in the betting pool and stood to profit a great deal if he did.

There were also quite a few administrative forms to finish signing off on and Fallout really wanted her shiny new desk back.

* * *

Riana1: Wow! Thank you for all the reviews. =) And really, Jazz terrorizes the entire team quite cheerfully any time he happens to drop by - no one is a match for him, bwahaha! Ahem. There should be more about the "other SIC" in a little bit (and, for that matter, Fallout's "looks" as well. Or utter lack thereof.)

Lily_Avalon: Fallout is quite terrified at the thought of being pranked by Jazz. She's very busy being serious and competent, after all. As for the meeting, Prime was indeed there - Fallout nearly died of spark failure on the spot & you can bet Flagship and Jazz didn't let her live that down for oh, a few centuries at the very least. ;)


	33. Benevolence

**Benevolence**_  
"Hear reason, or she'll make you feel her."  
_ ~ Benjamin Franklin

Hitting station or base mess halls was always something of a return home for Salvo - inasmuch as it meant going back home to lord it over the peons while showing off the brand new artillery he'd been upgraded with, anyway. It was gorgeous, beautiful artillery. It deserved to have the peons drool over it. (Only, not literally. Because, ew.) Still, some things didn't change and though he'd been warned not to give himself away and to at least try to keep a low profile, no one had said that he couldn't enjoy himself on his off time now and then.

And right now, that meant mingling with some of the grunts milling about the mess hall, each settling in after a day's work or preparing to head out, some of them station permanents and others just transients from whatever ship was currently at dock.

The snippets of conversation were the same ones he heard in any military (or civilian) mess hall. The daily gossip of the local inhabitants, whatever profession they may have, the tawdry rumors surrounding this or that bot, the complaints of the dissatisfied and the familiar ribbing between friends, the latter being his favorite type of conversation to listen in on.

"Yeah, I'd have fun with that," was the one comment that stood out from the others, suddenly, and Salvo leaned back from the table he'd appropriated to pay closer attention, the tone one he knew ( and had used himself) far too well.

"You'd have fun with anything, slagger!" was the mocking retort, to the general amusement of the onlookers.

"Shut yer voice box. Sure, she ain't exactly the sweetest little bit I've ever seen, pretty drab and all, but hey - how often do you get to see a femme these days anyway?" The laughter was raucous and unpleasant - again, nothing Salvo himself hadn't indulged in many a time before. Of course... it was a little different now. They were talking about one of _his_ teammates. The thought rolled around for a while, making its merry way towards the only possibly outcome he could think of. With a blissful smile Salvo rose to his feet, and picked up his table casually.

The resulting crash from the table swooping down to sideswipe the other mech brought a brief lull to the mess hall's usual hubbub. This lasted for all of a few nano-kliks before all discussions resumed as usual, due to the fact that the fight had been stopped before it even seriously started, the mech currently sporting a table as a new addition to his armor having been knocked clean offline in the process.

"Are you out of your processors?!" The other mechs scrambled up from where they'd been thrown, some seeing to their companion, most keeping an eye on him being far more concerned for their own personal welfare than anyone else's. Salvo sneered at the latter.

"Naw, just doing you a favor." Salvo gave them all a dismissive look, enjoying himself. He was looking out for a teammate and had gotten to kick someone's aft, in the bargain. It really had been a good idea to check out the mess hall. "See, the way I look at it, I beat your buddy up and teach him proper manners, I'm actually doing him - and you all - a favor. So you should thank me!" Beaming at the sorry lot of soldiers alternating between helping their companion up or glaring at him in some pitiful attempt at intimidation, Salvo decided that the entire lot was a lost cause and a waste of time. Right up until one of them, frowning slightly, finally got some sort of thinking done with whatever he possessed that passed as processors.

"Wait... how is it that you beating us up is you doing us a favor?"

"Keeps you from getting taught the error of your disrespectful ways by my SIC instead, is what." After watching that thought percolate through their dim little cranial units until comprehension slowly settled in, Salvo grinned genially. "Yeah. That'd be the femme you were trash talking just now."

Seeing a distinct lack of desire to argue further from his interlocutors Salvo released the unfortunate bot he'd been keeping pinned to the ground with a single foot and turned around, heading back for the general docking area. He hummed tunelessly to himself the entire way.

All in a day's fun, he thought contentedly.

"Hey!" Salvo kept walking towards their shuttle, ignoring the talk of the dock workers going on around him. "Did you see that sweet lookin' black and blue medbot, earlier?"

With a slight smile, the tank paused in mid-step and boosted his audios to make sure no one was talking in any untoward way about his teammate. And if they were, well - someone had to protect the unwary from Deadline as well, after all.

"Eh, I dunno. He kinda shot down everyone who get anywhere near 'em with a single look. At once. It was pretty impressive, actually."

"Ha! Be worth it, I think! Betcha there's a lot of heat under all that frost!"

Laughter echoed among the dockworkers. None of them spotted Salvo unhurriedly strolling in their direction, still smiling as he hefted a newly acquired cargo crate under one massive arm.


	34. The Long Arm of Justice, Guest Writer

**Mission: The Long Arm of Justice**_  
Guest Writer: rexlapinii_

_"Justice is a certain rectitude of mind whereby a man does what he ought to do in the circumstances confronting him."_  
~ Saint Thomas Aquinas

Shortfall had argued for doing it close in. "I'll be right there anyway!" he'd grumped. "I can do the job and get out and nobody'll ever know I was there - you know, except for they'll see the body, and even then I can make it look like an accident."

But that wasn't the point. The Decepticons _needed_ to know, beyond any rational doubt, that they were being hunted. That no matter where they hid, no matter how safe they felt, they were not beyond the reach of Justice. That inevitably, inexorably, some day it would reach out its long arm and strike them down. And for that to happen, there could be no accidents. For that to happen . . . they needed to do something _impossible_.

"You just want to show off," Shortfall had grumbled. And there was truth in that, because Longshot loved what he did, loved the flair and the panache and most of all, he loved bringing down those who would oppress the innocent. But he'd put together a valid tactical plan to support his wild vision, and he'd gotten approval.

The rocky planetoid that the Decepticons had fortified was a thing of winds and canyons, the noxious atmosphere forever howling across the landscape, twisting it into incredible shapes. They'd hollowed their command bunker into an imposing spire, and bulldozed everything within a mile's radius into a flat plain alive with sensor sweeps. Nothing could cross it without being spotted and analyzed. Beyond the perimeter lay the world's natural maze - so impenetrable, the Decepticons thought, that any assault on their fortress would have to cross into their no-man's-land. They had not, as so many others had not, reckoned on Longshot.

Shortfall had inserted himself under cover of one of the Decepticons' own resupply transports, and then the sneaky little mech had managed to position himself inside the commander's own office. At a predetermined moment, his sensors came alive, visualizing the office and the Decepticon commander down to the nanometer, capturing every color, every texture, every fidget, down to the vibration frequency of the atoms that made up the evil mech's processor. The data went out over shielded tight-beam uplink to Callsign, patrolling over the canyons, who relayed it to Longshot along with his own contribution, an equally detailed map of the canyons with every errant breeze and whirling eddy tagged and calculated.

There was no processing this much data. It slammed into Longshot's processors like a tidal bore, and he simply rode it, balancing atop the wave. There would come a moment, just one perfect moment, and recognizing it was more art than science. The electromagnets in his rail rifle cycled up with a nearly inaudible hum, almost without his volition; the moment was nearly here.

He did not remember pulling the trigger. He never did. There was no choice in it, no decision; the moment arrived, and the moment _was_ the shot. It left his gun like an angel of death, screaming through the canyons, and the whirling winds nudged it a hair one way, a micron another, flirting with but never kissing the rock. It entered no-man's-land, but the Decepticons had not programmed their sensors to raise the alarm for a single bullet - after all, it was an impossible shot. No one could have sent a bullet winging along the path this one now flew, through the commander's narrow viewport and squarely between his optics. The mech collapsed without a sound, head more ruin than whole, spark guttering out.

Seven miles away, the shooter slung his rifle and grinned. No Decepticon would feel safe in this system for a very long time. And if they did, if they found some even more fortified place to hole up in, he would come back. He was Longshot of the Ghost Unit, the long arm of Justice, and impossible was the oil in his engine.


	35. Friendly Fire

**Friendly Fire**_  
Life consists not in holding good cards but in playing those you hold well._  
~ Josh Billings (pseudonym of Henry Wheeler Shaw)

#Heeeello, my merry band of misfits! We have incoming. Friendlies on patrol, way off their logged route. ETA one breem. Or possibly less – they just sped up.#

#....er, right for that trap we have, oh, right over there? For that Decepticon spy we're ambushing?#

#And we have a winner! Ayep! Correct! Got it in one! Accu-#

#Shortfall, of all the things to pick up from Fallout, did you hafta glom onto the lists? Huh?#

#Salvo.#

#Er. Yes, Flagship?#

#If they get here at the wrong time, Fallout and Wildside will be in serious trouble.#

#Yeah. Ain't good.#

#So go get caught.#

#...really? I can?!#

#Yes, you can. Delay them until we're done here. Go!#

#Did he... just giggle as he went off?#

#Yes. #

#Wait. We have a "Salvo gets caught" plan in case of stuff like this?#

#We do.#

#...I kinda feel sorry for that patrol.#

#So do I, Shortfall. So do I.#

~*~

Setting his data ping to a name and rank specifically designed for a situation where he might be unwittingly caught (or on purpose-caught) Salvo shifted position, moving further away from the ambush point in order to intercept the Autobot patrol unknowingly heading towards his team-mates. While he'd been indulging in unseemly glee before heading off to intercept, Salvo was focused as he neared the patrol, a whisper of data from Deadline informing him as to whom the members of the unit were. A moment later, entire personality profiles followed.

It was the last file (flagged to his attention no less) that set an evil gleam to Salvo's optics.

~*~

"Hey! Lookit what we found! Playing hooky, are we?" The voice alone was enough to grate on anyone's audio units, and the mech slowly looking up to glare at him certainly didn't seem thrilled about the sound. "Aw, didja get lost? Did your unit dump you here 'cause your paintwork is so boring?"

Somehow, Freeway must have hit a sore spot, Warpath decided. The remark about the large mech's paintjob had drawn a definite twitch in response. The patrol leader sighed heavily, still keeping most of his attention on the data being pinged back at them from the scouts' scanners. They were far off route. They'd found some mech whose data ping clearly indicated he was way off target and lost, his unit at least several hours out somewhere thataway. And why, oh why did his own unit always get assigned the annoying ones? Freeway cackled raucously, still spouting more insults towards the newcomer while Warpath sent in a request for identification on the data ping along with a hasty scan of the mech. This area had amazing data analysts, Warpath had to admit, which was a refreshing change of pace from the usual. The ping confirmation was returned in record time, along with the mech's assigned unit _and_ a note confirming that a warning had been sent along to his commanding officer.

The mech – showing remarkable grace while being targeted by Warpath's unit and Freeway's unending stream of invective and taunts – turned to give Warpath a slow, pensive look, then flicked a few fingers at him in a silent greeting before turning his attention back to the smaller mech perched hich up above.

"Heights are dangerous, y'know." With that, the mech slammed a solid fist into the wall Freeway was perched on, drawing a loud and startled squawk in the process. Dust and rubble rained down, through the mech's outstretched arms, followed by a flailing red Autobot.

"Kinda short, ain'tcha?" The mech smiled down amiably at the little red Autobot now glaring up at him ferociously, and bounced him in his arms a few times.

The snickering of his unit was definitely easy to hear in the ensuing silence. Freeway's howls of indignation were suspiciously muffled, though Warpath had no desire to actually look and find out why. It was kind of nice not to hear the small bot's strident voice as clearly as they'd all had to hear it since they'd rolled out on patrol.

"So, uh. You guys usually patrol here?" The minibot's kicks drummed a steady beat on the much larger mech's thick plating, and remained generally ignored.

"No. One of our scouts detected unusual activity though so we adjusted our route to investigate."

The mech looked sheepish.

"Yeah, um. That'd be us. Our unit got sent in here on one of those 'need to know only and you don't need to know' missions. Our squad leader was pretty sore about that. Them giving us coordinates that made no sense didn't help much. You might want to check in and see what our command outpost has to say about it."

It was hardly anything Warpath and his unit hadn't experienced themselves, and he found himself nodding in sympathy at the mech, who was making no issue whatsoever about being covered by two mechs with drawn weapons. As giggly as some of his unit were about seeing Freeway still cradled in the large mech's grasp (and effectively muzzled, still), they was still a good soldiers and they all knew better than to relax their guard when facing a strange mech on the field. Until Warpath gave the signal, even if everything was clearly reading that all was good, the mech wasn't moving from where he was.

"Yeah, we know how that goes." After a moment – and more data incoming to settle his worries, Warpath nodded. "Local command outpost confirms he's one of their own. They're also calling us back in. Stand down."

The mech smiled under briefly under his battlemask and tucked the red bot he was still holding under one arm, still ignoring the drumming of fists and pedes on his sides as he lumbered forward to exchange friendly greetings with Warpath's unit.

"You get separated from your unit, then?"

"More like my unit got separated from me." With a shrug of disgust, the mech stopped a few feet from them, standing at ease. As much as one could with a flailing, howling bot tucked under one's arm. A few of the other mech had switched from the odd, occasional giggle to outright muffled snorts of laughter while their comrades kept watch.

"And they have you under radio silence and you can't check in or use your team data-net to coordinate." The statement was made flatly and with a certain degree of annoyance. The mech's resigned shrug in reply told Warpath all he needed to know. It also meant Warpath himself couldn't do a thing to help out, since no one could contact them under such conditions. Technically, Warpath wasn't even allowed to talk to the mech.

"Hey, no worries. I can just tag along 'till my commanding officer gets himself unlost and shows up." He set the struggling Freeway down on his feet (hard) and then patted the smaller bot a few times on the head (enough that Freeway clearly wobbled on his peds for the next few steps he took).

"Hey. You okay there, speck?"

"What did you call me?!" The wobbling straightened out instantly as Freeway forgot about being dizzy and instead focused on being indignant. Warpath tried not to snicker himself and turned to give the other members of his unit an amused glance. One of them was leaning on a far, half destroyed wall and the rest of the mechs standing behind him weren't doing much better. They were still (somehow) keeping watch, judging from the data streaming in from them and the scouts they had spread out a bit further afield. Warpath strongly suspected the conversation between the mech and Freeway was being broadcast to the scouts, judging from some of the wavers in the data coming in.

"Speck. Hrrm, that don't work? How about small stuff?" The mech grinned broadly and Warpath strongly suspected he was bouncing his chin off his armor on purpose.

The data from the scouts wavered once more, and Warpath decided that visuals were being sent along to them as well.

"Grblt! Don't call me that! I'm not short!"

"Did I call you short? But hey, that's fine. I'm an easy-goin' kind mech." The pause didn't last long, though there was much pretense at hard thinking at least. "How about runt then?"

"No! Not funny!"

"Tiny?"

"Hey!"

"Midget?"

"AARGH!"

Warpath chuckled lowly as the mech and a steaming, cursing Freeway took point, heading back towards the outpost, and shook his head as he collected the rest of his unit and got them back into somewhat giggly order.

If they were lucky, maybe the mech would harass Freeway into blowing a circuit on the way back.

~*~

"Hey guys! That unit was great! Went back to base and then we went off to this bar they knew at one of the civilian outposts nearby and ...woah. The slag happened to _you_?"

Salvo stared in mild horror at the conditions his teammates, then reached forward to delicately pluck a strand of... something from Flagship's helm. The bit of green something wriggled and hissed at him.

"Huh."

"Had fun, did you?"

Though Salvo did his best to not react, it took all of three seconds for a sozzled grin to break through. "Good mechs, that bunch! Know how to have a good time too, if you know what I mean!"

Fallout walked by (carefully), the dents and scratches marring her gray paint drawing a sympathetic hiss from the tank. Wildside followed close by, equally dented and banged up but moving smoothly, and offered his partner a small smile, which Salvo returned cheerfully. Longshot (entirely unscathed) leaned nearby, keeping a wall up while watching the proceedings with decided interest.

"Hey, Salvo?"

The voice was from somewhere down below – a location Salvo had ignored thoroughly for most of the evening, though this particular voice Salvo dimly remembered was one he shouldn't ignore. (Too often.)

"Yeah?"

"You know how I don't care if you call me short, on account of you being big an' dumb?"

Salvo frowned.

"Yeah?"

Shortfall beamed and walked towards the much bigger mech, stepped up on his pede and wrapped both arms around his leg with a blissful smile.

"I think I need to try out that new taser system Deadline equipped me with during my last upgrade again." And with that, Shortfall activated his very own personal taser system on someone for the very first time. (On purpose anyway.)

"YEEAAARRGH!"


	36. Eidolon

**Fool's Paradise**  
_"Still thou knowest that in the ardor of pursuit men lose sight of the goal from which they start."__  
_~ Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller

The actual mission itself had been simple enough. Infiltrate a Decepticon factory on the edges of contested territory while circumventing the security system, set the charges, leave. Watch the pretty fireworks from afar and congratulate each other on a job well done.

In actual practice, things turned out to be a great deal more complicated.

~*~

#Longshot? Something's wrong.#

#Callsign, you stay out of sight. If the rest of that seeker's trine are here, they'll spot you the second they get in range. Move out now!#

#But... that weird dust that was blocking my scans at ground level, on the factory grounds? The one with all the magnetized metal in it? It's cleared up. And I think this is really, really bad now!#

#...how bad are we talking here, partner.#

#There's a lot of mechs down there, Longshot. A lot of them seem hurt somehow, my scanners keep bounding off them at weird angles. And... they're really low on energy, all of them.#

#Oh no...#

~*~

#Field team - abort operation, repeat, abort operation!#

#Negative. Discovery counter-measures active. Abort no longer feasible.#

#That seeker?#

#Yes. Nearly twice now he's led a security team to us. We need to get out, our extraction window's getting smaller with every passing-#

#Standby. Incoming data paquet.#

The pause was long, moments ticking away heavily.

#...oh sweet Primus. Refugees. There are refuges within the blast radius.#

~*~

#We can't let those explosives go off, what in the pit are those fraggers doing there?! Even con civilians are idiots! This is a _factory_!# Shortfall squirmed, desperately clicking away at the portable unit he'd hooked up to the factory mainframe secondary systems. Even as he swore and cursed, he found a private memo from the factory manager. It explained how he'd let some refugees use the grounds for the night before evacuating his own mechs, unable to turn away so many in such desperate need. He'd handed over all of the medical reserves left as well, in the hopes of giving them a bit more time to reach a safer location. To live a bit longer.

Fat lot of good it did them now, Shortfall thought.

#It's too late. When that seeker nearly led that security team to us, I locked them down.# Fallout paused for a moment, no doubt focusing on keeping ahead of her pursuers. #Counter-measures are active, they'd have to be disarmed manually and there's no way we can do that now. The countdown won't stop and if we ring the external evacuation alarm, we'll only make things worse – if they bother to listen to it at all.#

The factory employees had cleared out earlier, due to the simple use of the self-destruct system's countdown. But the seeker who had shown up with a security team in tow had been a nasty, unpleasant kink in the works. Fallout had managed to lead them on a merry chase, but they were getting closer and closer to catching her and she'd had to stray much further from Shortfall than she would have preferred in order to remain out of their grasp.

Shortfall swore as he pounded away at the console and begged the mainframe to offer an answer. Any answer.

And then it did.

#There! That, look!# Schematics were passed along through the Ghosts' dataflow, critical issues outlined in an instant.

#The old weapons' hold outside?#

Shortfall nodded to himself, feverishly adding in more data, pulling in information from the mainframe and sending it back to Fallout.

#Yeah, see? Look, here and here. It's one of those really old holds, the solid ones with shielding that could withstand having a small planet dropped on 'em without a scratch.# He paused, voice growing heavy. #Ain't got no power source. We could have the extraction team fix up those relays that are reported as broken, but without a power source- slaggitall, I don't know what to do. We can't let those refugees get killed, not like this.#

_Not by us_, were the unspoken words.

#But there is a power source.# Fallout's voice was grim. #And it's walking through these hallways as we speak.#

~*~

He hadn't expected the little spy to drop from the sky into his hands. Literally. Except it had been a vent and not the sky, but still. He preferred to think of it as the sky. It was only normal he would.

"This place is about to go up. Blast radius will extend to the outer perimeter."

Her words were choked, likely by the fact that he'd set her against a wall and started leaning. She was small – he was not. One hand was all he needed to keep her there.

"Then stop them."

"Too late. Countermeasures are active. No time for a manual disarm."

He hadn't expected that answer. 'Die, you filthy Decepticons' would not have surprised him. This... did. She seemed almost frantic, he realized, small vibrations he could pick up from her due to the way he was keeping her from moving. The hum of her engine, rolling with increasing speed, as though it would somehow make something happen faster. He knew that feeling. Only too well.

"Why do you care? Why would you literally-"

"Refugees. Outside. We didn't know. Magnetized dust warped our sensors." She was choking out the words, systems straining from the pressure he was putting her shell under, he realized and with a sudden numb feeling of shock at himself he eased up, not saying a word as she shifted slightly against his hand. "We were here to destroy a factory," she murmured, looking at him directly, optics calm and steady. "Not refugees. Not that." Horror lurked underneath the calm, he realized as he studied her further, the emotion leaking through in the hum of engines still cycling faster than they should for an unmoving bot.

"You haven't flown out. You could outdistance the blast," she said. The look she was giving him now was razor sharp, unyielding. "You could save yourself."

"I can't just leave them here." He hadn't realized he'd spoken until the echo of his helpless words drifted away in the confines of the observation room. Hollow, useless words, for a hollow and useless mech. He hated how she nodded then, would have killed her then and there were it not for the flash of hope directed his way. The determination ringing through her next words.

"Get them into the secured weapons hold on the first level. It can withstand the blast if you power it from your own reactors."

Rearing back, nearly dropping her in the process, the seeker stared at her in stunned shock.

"That's impossible! How-"

"We intercepted your communication, earlier. I saw you looking outside the observation window when the dust cleared. You always believed in the cause, didn't you? Overthrowing the oppressors. Freeing the slaves, the downtrodden, the abused. And now you don't know why you're doing this anymore, because it's obvious Megatron's lost sight of that somewhere along the line, _he _changed somehow, long ago. Only you don't know how to get out of this anymore, because you still _believe_ and leaving would mean throwing away everything you've done to this point." She was talking quickly, frantically, the pressure the seeker was still exerting to keep her pinned to the wall uncomfortable, but no longer punishing. "Those refugees don't need to die. If you power that weapons hold with your own reactors, the shielding it's equipped with will hold. It's been repaired," she overrode him before he could protest. "We just didn't know what to power it with. It was the only thing we could think of to do, so we started working on it and hoped a power source would... become available."

Silence reigned, save for the sound of her own systems cycling, adjusting to the pressure being used to kept her pinned to the wall, and the low whine of the seeker's engines. Rattled, confused, angry. So very angry. Seekers sang their emotions whenever their control slipped and Fallout wondered if they knew how very alluring, how beautiful the sound was. She waited a moment longer as anger and confusion bled through the hallway, and then closed in for the kill.

"You can keep them calm. You're a Seeker. One of Megatron's elite. You tell them he sent you here to save them and they will follow you to the gates of the Pit itself."

"That would be a lie."

"It will make them listen to you. With the time left, that's all that matters."

"You were going to try to take me out. To save them." The question was curiously calm. Almost numb.

"Yes. We _were_." The emphasis on the last word did not escape him.

~*~

The seeker's engines roared, energy drained at a pace he didn't even notice. He braced himself on the wall before him, plumes of molten fire and energy trailing behind him as he focused and drew more power from within himself, fed it all to the shields surrounding the weapons hold. He remembered arguing with Megatron – the first time he had done so in forever. But not the first time he'd wanted to.

_"That rabble? Save them? Of what use are they to me? What purpose could they possibly serve?" _

He could hear low murmurs from the refugees, the words passing through him in gentle waves.

Confusion.

_"Pathetic, broken husks with no strength, no meaning." _

Awe.

_"Those wretches aren't Decepticons. They're worthless to me."_

Gratitude.

_"Let them all perish."_

He trembled as the blast hit, the aftermath roiling around them in a pitiless inferno. The draw on his resources from the shielding keeping them all safe grew and grew, until he could almost no longer sense where he was, or what he was doing. Almost, he slid down – almost he fell.

It was only later, when the safe signal which had been promised to him by the Autobot spy finally pinged through his awareness that he let his hands slide away from the wall, his engines powering down with weary, painful jolts. He didn't return a confirmation, suspecting that merely being there to receive the safe signal would be enough for them to know their plan had worked. The realization that he'd even considered sending a return confirmation shook him, moments later, until the weariness sweeping through his systems stole away his ability to remain upright.

The hands which had been helping him remain steady gently moved then, some shifting to support him as he sat down, a fall made gentle and slow. He had forgotten how much it could hurt, to power his thrusters so much yet not fly. The same hands which had reached out to support him when he'd wavered during the worse of the explosion now patted him gently in silent, respectful thankfulness. Voices murmured in concern while tattered, ragged mechs looked him over carefully. With hesitant smiles and wondering expressions, some offered him the last of their rations in the hope he would be all right, would not suffer for saving them while others opened the doors and let the stink of engine fuel and the lingering smoke the bunker's ventilation system hadn't been able to handle slowly clear from the hold.

Whatever purpose could they possibly serve indeed, he thought to himself, smiling faintly at them in return before bowing his head in silence.

The downtrodden and the dispossessed, who were giving him all that kept them alive with such earnest, caring expressions.


	37. Bribes

**Bribes**  
_"Every man has his price."_  
~ Sir Robert Walpole

The sounds of combat echoing from within the seedy bar were nothing Fallout hadn't heard before. It was hardly the first time she'd had to head out to fetch their resident heavy muscle units, as it were - it was why she'd taken the habit of monitoring the local enforcement channels herself, really. It just made the fetching simpler all around if she got to them before anyone official did. Though the others might refuse to believe it, Fallout really didn't mind less paperwork whenever she could manage it. And she definitely liked being efficient.

A large mass incoming at high speeds registered on her sensors, giving the femme enough time to move to the right and tilt her head slightly, thus escaping being crushed by a large mech being thrown through the front of the bar's window. The landing included three bounces and a decent length skid, all of which she tracked, processing and calculating the data as an afterthought while moving in closer, inspecting the new opening and deeming it a safer point of entry than the actual doorway to the establishment which was currently blocked by two bots attempting to kill each other. Or at least, so she assumed, truly preferring not to know if they were actually doing something else.

The interior of the bar reeked of things Fallout could recognize and a few she couldn't. Adjusting her vision to the gloom, she gave herself a moment to map and track both the room and the occupants within, the press of bodies and the chaos of the fighting registering through as clear, cool information to her processors. Of course, she'd have been able to achieve that just as easily without the use of any sensor whatsoever, really. Salvo was where he usually always was in such instances, smack dab in the middle of the action, roaring in savage glee as he flung mechs in all directions, shedding a host of the smaller bots off with a single shake before using another to take down two larger ones charging at him. Which mean she had to get him out of there and out of sight as soon as possible, because being noticed by the local authorities was simply out of the question. Shortfall could deal with potential recordings, when they returned to base. With a sigh, Fallout ducked to avoid a set of flailing limbs topped by dangerous looking sickle like blades and after a moment of consideration, probabilities and chances quickly adjusted to account for Salvo's obvious battle haze, she pulled out a single schematic and tight-beamed it at him through their team channel.

#OoooOOOooooh!#

Salvo's attention was entirely and utterly focused on her within a nano-klik. A mech attempted to take advantage of his distraction to launch another attack - a fatal mistake which saw the poor bot dispatched without ever being looked at.

#For me?!# The slurred question was highlighted by a look of almost childish glee, Salvo batting away another would-be assailant with newfound motivation. No one within these four walls even stood a chance of drawing his full attention, nor of slowing him down, with what Fallout had just captured his attention with.

#Yes. Find Wildside in here and bring him along, and we'll head back to base so you can pick colors.#

#!!!#

Bodies were flung carelessly aside as Salvo turned here and there, before finally remembering to use his own sensors and the team-specific tags each had to find his bar crawling companion. A few more mechs were lifted and tossed away casually, revealing a serene Wildside sitting underneath them all. The mech gave him team mate an interrogative look then turned to look behind him, his own sensors pinging to Fallout's presence. With a small smile and a wave he started to get up, only to find himself suddenly seized and flung over Salvo's shoulder.

#Got him! Incoming!# The gleeful warning was easily heard by Wildside this time, broadcast to both he and their second-in-command. So bemused was he by having been so unceremoniously picked up and thrown over Salvo's shoulder that Wildside merely stared at Fallout with a vaguely questioning expression.

#I only told him to find you, no idea why he decided this meant carry you out,# was the serene response. Clearly unflustered by the sight both mechs afforded as Salvo sliced through the crowd once more (two unfortunate civilians sent bouncing to the right, one to the left, three more at odd angles and one overhead) to join Fallout where she stood, hands clasped behind her back in the middle the still ongoing brawl. He was practically hopping in place from sheer glee.

#Back to base! C'mon! I want to see that gun!#

With a slight nod and a well hidden look of amusement, Fallout turned around and led the way out, Salvo happily falling in step behind, still carrying a now-resigned looking Wildside over his shoulder as they left the scene.

* * *

Riana1 - there should be a follow-up on the Seeker story, indeed.

Lily_Avalon - Thank you! The Seeker is indeed canon and there was only one I knew well enough for this role. TC was the correct guess (made on LJ). =)


	38. Reinforcement

**Reinforcement  
**_"A masterful retreat is itself a victory."_  
~Norman Vincent Peale

**Part 1**

Clinging tightly to the hull of the flier, Shortfall was... less than pleased. He wasn't even allowed to howl hysterically (and he really _really _wanted to) either - as hasty as the promise of dismantlement had been, Shortfall had no doubt Flagship had meant every word of it. If nothing else, their leader certainly knew how to motivate a mech into staying quiet while clinging to a flying deathtrap. Bastard.

Wide eyed and scared out of every single one of his frozen processors, Shortfall clung for dear life and promised himself he'd never, ever let anyone in the unit take him anywhere _near_ the neurotic excuse of a demented-

#I can practically _hear_ you thinking bad things about my flying, you know.#

The communication came through the closed short range network and nearly caused Shortfall to let go. The next maneuver Callsign made nearly dislodged him anyway, the weird flip and slow curve nothing like anything a normal flier would do. Instead, however, Shortfall settled for a strangled sound of terror as a suitably witty comeback. Of all the moments to settle upon for direct personal communication with him _for the first time_, Callsign had to choose the one time Shortfall couldn't wax poetic about it. It went beyond unfair.

#Also, I think you're digging grooves in my wing. Your magnetic clamps are working fine - could you please stop that?#

#Grblit!#

#Oh. I guess that's a no. Well. Okay. It kinda feels good anyway...# The flier sighed dreamily through the signal and small digits instantly popped open as Shortfall squeaked and at least managed to turn on his magnetic clamps at the same time. He was _not_ going to cling a flier into overload, particularly not if it meant said flier might lose the ability to fly in the process.

#That worked! Nice. I think I need to take more people lessons from Longshot.# A decidedly mocking crackle of static made it extremely clear the usually shy mech was enjoying himself, even as they flew towards the very lap (literally) of doom.

A steady stream of cursing was the petro-rat's only response, the stutters gradually fading as the mini-bot got into the swing of things and forgot that he was hanging from a flier's wing. Upside down. Over a raging warzone, no less.

~*~

**Part 2**

With a soundless maneuver, Callsign gracefully dipped down low, reversing power briefly to hover a short distance from the building - long enough for Shortfall to disengage his magnetic clamps and drop to the roof. Ignoring the petro-rat's antics as the smaller mech hugged the pitted floor as though reunited with a long lost lover, the flier gently reset his systems to float off just as quietly as he'd flown in, disappearing into the clouds of smoke surrounding the entire area without a sound.

After a few seconds of gathering his wits, the petro-rat swiftly set up the first data collecting unit and then scrambled off for the next viable point in the sensor grid he was setting up, using one of the building sides to scurry his way to the ground. There was a team isolated at ground zero and he and Callsign had to get data to them as quickly as possible in order to give them a way out, while Fallout coordinated the data stream and exit route and Longshot provided them with long range cover as needed.

Shortfall's first and foremost goal was to not get caught - doing so would alert the enemy to what he was doing, the gear he was carrying a dead giveaway unless he somehow managed to get obliterated on discovery (which was an entirely possible outcome, at that). A slight correction to his path pinged his HUD and he adjusted automatically to the new course Fallout gave him, not even wincing as a chunk of the original route he'd chosen was suddenly vaporized.

The second data collecting sensor coordinates were ticking through his processors as he scurried through his goal, scrambling under fallen walls and across mounds of debris, air filters clearing out the dust and smoke from the air automatically. Trusting in Fallout to warn him should any of the Decepticon troops wander too close to the path he was taking he kept moving as quickly as possible, the urgency in Flagship's voice during their original briefing still spurring him on. Three more of the miniaturized battle net sensors were set up in swift succession, Shortfall not needing to test them - Fallout was monitoring all the data coming in, he knew, and would modify the coordinates as needed should any need to be changed in order to ensure the integrity of the area wide sensor net once it went live. And the risks of premature discovery were too great in the middle of a warzone.

_That was no petro-rat, the Decepticon eventually realized, watching the creature carefully from his cubby-hole, holding off on a report lest he be uncovered. Something was going on and he knew it was important he find out what it was. The vermin's movements were diligent and quick as it expertly set up a small unit on a high wall, clinging to it with three limbs while working with the fourth, tail moving in whenever needed._

_Lip curling back in disgust at the chosen the mini-bot spy's alt-mode, the Decepticon moved slightly to get a better target, leaning forward to take careful aim._

_A bullet whirled sharply around the edge of the partially destroyed ceiling and slammed home through his upper back shoulder, driving through his spark before the weapon ever locked on the petro-rat. Unnoticed by anyone, the lifeless husk slumped back in the darkness._

Time ticked away in Shortfall's processor and he moved on, only two more sensors left to set up now that the one high up on the wall was in place. The structure had indeed been sounder than it had looked and Shortfall made a mental note to apologize to Callsign for his earlier remarks. The flier was really good, even he had to admit. And he would. This time, with this crew.... these things, he _would_ admit to, always. If he could walk through a battlefield and not have to watch his back, trusting in them to keep him alive, he could admit to them when he'd been wrong.

He really chose the weirdest moments to acknowledge stuff like that to himself, he reflected, as he busily set up the last sensor, focusing on his work, the murmur of Fallout's voice and nothing else as war and death raged around him.

~*~

**Part 3**

"This is not good," Roadbuster snapped out, slamming one fist in frustration at the long dead sensor unit. It had given out on them after the third shot from enemy lines had broken through the re-enforced armored casing it had been stored in, eliminating any chance of them getting additional use of it. And now they were stuck right in the middle of a Decepticon force which out-numbered them enough that even their well-earned reputation did little to deter them from edging closer and closer with every passing moment.

The rattling of weapons and near rhythmic explosions of ordinance surrounded them still, a constant for well over two shifts now - they'd been in the middle of things longer than they'd ever been before and the toll was weighing hard on them all. Their mission at least, had been a success - the civilians evacuated, the research projects they'd been working on salvaged and sent ahead with them and another unit while the Wreckers delayed any pursuit.

The Decepticons had not taken kindly to the loss.

The first ping of data seemed miniscule and irrelevant really and Scoop almost paid it no attention as it politely bleeped at him, save to note that it was there and being slagging useless. The second stream of data, however, had him gaping ahead while shooting and as it spread he could hear the other Wreckers exclaim in surprise as well as information unfurled across all of their HUDs in beautiful, searing clarity. The data kept streaming in and within a few nano-kliks, the entire zone lay mapped out for them, complete with tiny blinking red signals highlighting the position of every single Decepticon in the vicinity in glorious, effective simplicity.

"What the - where the slag did that _come from_?" Sandstorm's interjection was cut off by Roadbuster's sudden bark of laughter, grimness now entirely gone from their second-in-command's vocalizer.

"Who cares?!" was Scoop's emphatic reply. "Most beautiful thing I've ever fraggin' _seen_!" He was echoed by a cheerful coo from Twin Twist, the mech already reaching for some of the short range ordinance he'd had to hold onto for lack of definite targets to aim for.

"Oooh. There's even targeting data for that group there!" A pair of grenades went winging on their merry way in precisely that direction, exploding on a shorter timer for very satisfying results judging from Twin Twist's gleeful cackle. More and more targeting data flowed through to each of them, with devastating consequences being visited on the Decepticon forces surrounding them.

"Took their own sweet time," was Springer's only comment as he recalculated the state of their ammunitions and ordinance and passed along a sharp change to the firing patterns being laid out by the unit. His comment was sotto-voiced and his tone lighter than it had been since they'd been cornered, and meant only for Roadbuster. The mech in question grinned slightly in return as he started to go through the information, looking for an optimal path to safety when even that was suddenly rendered moot. Two sets of timers appeared on the edges of the HUD the data was dancing along, one counting down as a path was laid out for them, another on standby until it would be time to move. There were three pause points along the path, each with Decepticons standing in their way - they'd have to take them out on the run to make it out, he knew. But it was possible. The numbers seemed impossibly high to break through and one of the points had a unit which seemed far too large and imposing but Roadbuster squared his shoulders and cycled his vents once, preparing for the sprint to the first point.

Each Wrecker was ready - they'd been ready to move out for quite some time - and to say that the mood had shifted from perhaps worried to almost gleefully expectant was an understatement. They had data. They had a goal.

It was time to move out.

~*~

**Part 4**

The moment the Wreckers burst out of the trench they'd been holed up in, time briefly stood still. The Decepticon commander stared in disbelief, knowing only too well that the Wreckers had no intel, nearly no ammunition or ordinance left... and thus, in his evaluation, no hope of making a serious break for freedom of any kind work. They'd been fighting a losing battle for the past few cycles and both sides had known it. But if they wanted to go out in a suicidal charge and take out a few of their enemies along with them, he supposed he could oblige them - and reap the glory and rewards of being the Decepticon commander to finally, _finally_ take out the Wreckers. He smiled, the expression slashing his features and optics glittering in delight, started to transmit the final kill order.

The bullet took him out before the first word was sent out, winging through his troops and curving up from the ground to smash through him, lifting him up several feet in the air to fall across the wall he'd been previously hiding behind. The shock of their commander's death paused the others long enough for the first Wrecker to clear the wall, their commander now a convenient stepping stone for the others as they poured into previously safe zone, weapons firing with deadly accuracy.

The first point was cleared. Three nano-kliks later, the second path was input and confirmed and the Wreckers were once more on the move. Springer purposefully peered at the other nearby enemy units as he and the others ran by in order to visually confirm what the HUD showed him. Each of the unit commanders of the Decepticon forces which had been surrounding them was down, left to sprawl on the ground before shocked troops, dead of a single perfect spark-shot. A low chuckle escaped the triple-changer at the visual confirmation and he moved along with his Wreckers, focusing on the task at hand with practiced ease.

The remainder of their escape was easy, stunned Decepticon troops left milling in confusion and unwilling to step forth to take over command. Every now and then one of the Deceptions closest to them and still aiming to kill would suddenly twitch and fall, a smoking crater blossoming through their chest plates the only explanation left behind. Each Deception trying to take over quickly followed the path of their squad leaders until none dared try and it wasn't long before the fire aimed at the Wreckers was half-hearted and sporadic at best.

Springer was laughing by the time they were through the final point, the path leading to the rescue shuttles highlighted on the HUD blinking clear and free. As they raced over to the wildly gesturing pilot of the last shuttle still on the ground and waiting for them, the data stream tapered off slowly and then vanished from their sensors, blinking out gently as though it had never been there.

"What the fraggin' slag was that?!" Sandstorm's question echoed in the confines of the shuttle bay while the doors slammed shut behind them and the shuttle's engines roared as Top Spin pounced on him to push him flat on his back, ignoring any protest along the way. "Wha- hey!"

"Don't care, shut up, I need to fix that now!" Any further protest were cut off in a howl of indignant pain as Topspin set to work, the medic chuckling merrily to himself every step of the way.

"I don't care what that was about. I just want to know who that sniper was!" the medic finally told the others, swatting at Sandstorm's hands until the triplechanger stopped trying to get up to contribute to the discussion and stayed down to be properly ministered to. If asked, Top Spin would have admitted he was (mostly) lying and really did want to know who (and how!) had gotten all that data through to them. Sandstorm had only been asking what they'd all been thinking, after all. Springer grinned and shrugged, elated at their retreat and alternately pondering and dismissing out of hand the possibility of stealing himself a full-time sniper for the Wreckers.

"Remind me to request docking their pay for taking so long," he chuckled quietly to Roadbuster, shoulders shaking in quiet, relieved laughter. Top Spin was already moving on to Twin Twist, mercilessly peeling off melted plating off the drill's shoulder while ignoring the squawked complains each gesture produced.

"Don't expect me to have your back when they drop by for a 'chat' about it," was the rumbled reply, both mechs snickering in amusement at the thought. Nearby, Scoop turned a gimlet glare on both officers, the only thing stopping him from moving in close to ask what they were talking about in more specific details being the evil look Top Spin sent his way. The energon leaking from his side was an equally convincing argument and he repeated the questions the others had been asking as well, though in a lower voice, hoping the attempt at discretion might earn him more information.

"Forget about it," was the reply, Springer shaking his head with a small smile, ignoring Roadbuster's sudden groan at the comment he was now anticipating from the green mech. "Just ghosts in the field."


	39. With Friends Like These

**SICs - With Friends Like These...**  
_AN.: Co-written with ajremix._

_"God save me from my friends. I can protect myself from my enemies."_  
~ Claude Louis Hector de Villars

The mission was over - or at least the part which had involved some of them heading out to do the actual mission and then hightailing it back to their current accommodations while staying out of sight was over. Callsign had promptly flitted away to float between two air currents somewhere within comm reach, while Shortfall and Longshot had wandered off together, arguing about the merits of the sensor grid they'd used for the mission. The smaller bot was already planning several upgrades from what she'd overheard on the team channels they'd been using before they'd taken Fallout's suggestion and switched to private to not impose their spirited discussion on everyone else. Which left the team's SIC with all the paperwork (as usual) - not that she minded. It meant she didn't have to deal with the higher-ups and base politics, after all.

The base had been good about providing them quarters, but the temporary facilities weren't optimal as far as anyone in the team was concerned – the general consensus had been summed up by Shortfall rather neatly upon their arrival a few days earlier, the mini-bot snorting in disgust before stalking away. This had left Flagship discussing matters intently with some of their superiors yet again in order to find them a new and more permanent means of transport so they could actually make use of the shiny new headquarters they had yet to even see, due to the nature of their latest batch of missions.

A quiet ping in his general direction received a firm busy reply, and the brief overflow of information (Flagship had the tightest lock on his data net as well, she knew) had given her the impression that someone somewhere wasn't at all happy with her leader's genial requests. A whisper from another node followed Flagship's reply soon afterwards, indicating Deadline was with him and that things were progressing as planned. The underlying satisfaction in the way their surgical engineer had worded his sentence made it clear whoever they were dealing with was on the losing side of the equation, and Fallout returned an amused confirmation, pausing only to do a last discreet team wide locations check before shuttering the gates on her own communication grid. Now that everyone else was squared away, it was time for her to finish the reports and make certain everything was settled in regards to their little outing. Picking up a few data pads from the desk of her very temporary office, Fallout slipped out to tend to some of the more mundane aspects of her duties. As she stepped out, she automatically sidestepped a couple of mechs almost before she realized they were there, causing her to stop short.

"Hey!" The shorter of the two greeted with a surprised but friendly grin. "Good timing, we were just looking for you!" Over his shoulder the second nodded his head in a way that made the clipped formality seem like comfortable action. "I was hoping to get a copy of your after action report and maybe the data you recorded to find out what went wrong. Is Flagship around?"

"Not yet, but he will be soon," she replied, optics dimming briefly as she pinged said mech a brief confirmation request. "He says to meet him in his office, if that's convenient."

There was the briefest of pauses as the green mech did a quick check- most likely to find out how much time he had before his unsupervised team members got bored and decided to cause trouble. He acquiesced simply. "That's no problem."

Fallout handed Springer one of the data pads she'd been holding. "This is the preliminary field report from all assigned personnel though the full data analysis isn't done yet." Somehow she managed not to look too amused at the very fresh memory of the form Longshot's first iteration of the report had taken before she made him redo it. "I still have some of the raw data we collected left to go through. I was hoping to get what you'd gathered as well to piece together a better overview of events," she added, a touch hopeful.

With a wide smirk and knuckles going back to rap against his companion's chestplate, Springer told her, "Why do you think I have Roadbuster around?"

"It's a difficult, straining task," the larger mech deadpanned, pulling out a data pad and holding it out for Fallout, "carrying around such an important pad. It's unfathomable how he'd manage it without me here to handle it."

"I have no doubt," she agreed gravely, accepting the data pad handed to her. The green mech was... irrepressible, Fallout thought, keeping herself from smiling outright in return. And though she would have normally fought to the bitter end to keep her solemn, second-in-command appropriate composure, the others were still safely out of sight, Flagship and Deadline had yet to arrive and Roadbuster had handed her such a straight line as even she could not pass it up. "Do the wild data pads find ways to converge and swarm his desk whenever you're absent, making a hostage of him in his own office too?"

"I'm of the opinion he conveniently 'forgets' that he has an office whenever I'm not around." Roadbuster drawled out. "If it weren't for me, I do believe he'd allow the data pads to accumulate for so long they'd begin developing their own civilization on his desk."

"I am right here, you know." Springer shifted slightly, just enough to glare at his second. "I haven't suddenly lost all audio reception in the last half-klik, either. Besides, that only happened once." Roadbuster turned to look down at the triplechanger. "Or... five times. But YOU try keeping six unruly mech from bringing down an entire command hub in a fit of boredom and see how much time you have left over for filling out reports."

"Only five times," Fallout repeated generously, briefly acknowledging a transmission from Deadline indicating Flagship should arrive at any moment. "That's not so bad, really."

"Not so bad until I say that's how many times I haven't been around to supervise the lot."

Springer scoffed, waving a hand. "Could've been worse."

The femme allowed herself a glance at the target of their teasing, fighting a losing battle when it came to concealing her amusement. "Losing reports would definitely be worse."

"I didn't hear you say that," was the response to that, and Fallout turned to see Flagship standing not too far off, eyeing the leader of the Wreckers with a touch of amusement. Apparently, any moment had meant right that moment.

"Flagship," Springer's tone took on a long-suffering note, "I do believe our seconds are spreading lies and slander about us to our faces, again. We obviously can't take them to nice places."

Somehow, Fallout managed to not say the first thing that ran through her processors at that. Flagship laughed outright at Springer's expression, covering her near slip. "Nonsense. We're behaving perfectly well," she said instead, with all due primness. "We're not blowing anything up, are we?"

"That leaves oh, everyone else currently not standing here," Flagship pointed out, hoping his more trouble-seeking mechs would at least have the decency to wait until Springer was gone to act up. "Deadline and I have managed to do something about our current accommodations, so we're most certainly going to a 'nicer' place than this." While their quarters had been fine for a run of the mill unit, they didn't even begin to cut it for a specialized Intel unit. "I don't know that certain people who bring up Reports We Shall Never Speak Of Again deserve to come along to inspect said new quarters, however," he added with a certain measure of mock-asperity.

"Over-worked and under-appreciated," Fallout commented sotto-voiced. "And I even found those reports, too." She even managed - ever so briefly - to look woeful. And did her best to try and not recall too clearly exactly where those reports had ended up being found, too.

"That's a clause in your contract, you know," Roadbuster replied in an equally low yet intentionally audible tone. "Anyone taking a position as someone's second in command has that written in fine print."

"Didn't they teach you that in your secret 2IC training school? Along with being able to clean up any mess your CO leaves behind and indulge us with witty banter?" Springer flashed Fallout a quick grin before turning back to Flagship. As his own team wasn't set to stay for too long he didn't know the state of the unit's quarters, but the well-being of the personnel- under his command or not -was always something he bothered himself with. "Are the rooms that bad around here, or are you just being overly picky? Again?"

"It's fine for a traditional unit," Flagship shrugged slightly, "but for what we do it's as abysmal as it gets, particularly considering the equipment we work with and the kind of security we need to go along with it." He carefully did not look at Fallout, who was busy studying the data pads she held with much concentration. "We learned the ... hard way that it was better to get secured facilities." With a definite preference for a change of subject, Flagship continued casually. "Is that all the data you needed for the extended report you wanted to work on, Fallout?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. It'd help if I could ask someone who was on location some questions to cover every angle..." she trailed off, knowing Springer was here to talk to Flagship anyway.

Which was as obvious a hint for Roadbuster short of her bluntly saying so. "So long as we can trust the rest of the team to keep themselves out of trouble," the look he gave Springer was of a very 'I'm not betting on it' variety, "I could be available for that."

The look he received in return, of course, was amused and complying. "So the two of you can swap more horror stories of what your teammates have gotten into this time? Don't get so carried away you miss curfew call," he chided.

Roadbuster looked genuinely puzzled. "I have a curfew call?"

"Yeah. It's the 'someone's reporting on bored Wreckers, we need to bail them out before they get put in the brig again' call."

"Right, that one. How could I have forgotten about that one?"

"Because it's also referred to as indentured servitude by some?" Fallout offered helpfully, drawing an outright bark of laughter from Flagship.

"What is this, a full mutiny?" Still chuckling, Flagship gave her a vaguely stern look. "Report. My desk. ASAP!"

"Yessir!" The response was only half jest. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, and only too aware that she'd relaxed a bit too much even considering the circumstances ('he started it first' wasn't really a valid excuse), she opted a full tactical withdrawal instead.

Noticing his second's reaction and not surprised in the least at the shift in her tone, Flagship waved both of them off. "I'm curious to see what explains the disaster that led to us having to go in as well," he said in a slightly more casual tone, knowing the implication that reasons would indeed be found would help in settling Fallout's unease somewhat. "And so you can't keep complaining about us," the gleam in both 2ICs optics returned as he said this, making Flagship smile faintly in amusement once more, "try to find somewhere nice to go, mm?"

With the both of them summarily dismissed, Fallout turned to give Roadbuster a slightly questioning look, holding up the two data pads containing the data they were to compile and interpret.

"I believe I've just been strongly suggested to take you for a drink as we discuss." Roadbuster commented with a small, hidden smile. He tilted his head slightly, indicating to Fallout to lead the way.

Springer went to stand beside Flagship, watching their seconds moving down the corridor. "You do realize," he said mildly, "leaving the two of them alone together will only encourage them snarking, don't you?"

"Considering how formal she usually insists on being when it's not just the team around, I'm torn as to whether I should worry or approve of that," Flagship admitted, still pleasantly surprised at the femme's behavior. "Particularly at her lack of bringing up protocol at the mere mention of going to get a drink... Though I suppose she has reason to-"

"Wait!" a voice interjected from a doorway nearby. "Going to get a drink? Are you talking about Fallout? Our Fallout?" A handsome red and black mech leaned from the opening, looking stunned and not at all self-conscious about his eavesdropping. "Went out for drinks?" He stared at both officers, as though waiting for a confirmation to every interrogation he'd managed to pose.

"Longshot..." Flagship's warning rumble was thoroughly, utterly ignored.

"Gottagonowbye!" The door whisked obediently shut behind him as the sniper raced back within the confines of the unit's temporary quarters with a hoot of glee.

"Hey guys! Guys! You won't _believe_ this!" The words could be heard growing fainter as the mech raced deeper into the depths of the rooms beyond and Flagship didn't know whether to laugh or groan, until he settled for both.

~*~

Scoop thrummed his fingers against the console top, idle now that their gear (and each other) were almost entirely repaired and left with an abundance of downtime until they were to prep to leave. Nor was he the only Wrecker in this position, most all of them quickly approaching that dangerous point of being bored.

Which made the incoming call either fortunately or terribly timed.

The payloader accepted the transmission, "Scoop here."

"Scoop," came the voice of his commander, "lemme talk to Whirl."

"Sorry, Chief. Topspin's finishing up on repairs to him, he's incommunicado right now."

"Great. What about Twin Twist?"

"He's around... uh, somewhere."

"Hmm." Springer didn't sound too thrilled. "Whichever one you see first, tell them to keep an optic on Roadbuster, would you?"

That got the rest of the team's attention, turning to look at the console as if they could guess what Springer was thinking through it. "I thought Roadbuster was with you," Scoop said.

"He was, but he went to get a drink with someone-"

"Wait wait wait," Sandstorm suddenly interjected. "Are you saying Roadbuster is voluntarily socializing? With a non-Wrecker? WITHOUT you?"

The ensuing pause did a fair rendition of Springer mentally facepalming himself. "...you have me on speaker."

"So," Scoop tried- and failed -to sound casual, "where is RB? I mean- since we need to look out for him and all."

"Scoop, listen- it's not-"

"They're getting a drink," Sandstorm rode all over Springer's protest, "there's only so many places they can go."

"Hey, I'm telling you-"

"The base isn't all that big." Broadside suddenly added in. "Asides from the officer's lounge, there's only a mess hall and a canteen."

"Guys-"

"We should look for them. Springer's orders, after all."

"Guys-"

"We can pick up Spin and Whirl on the way out and I'm sure Twist is lurking around close by."

"Guys-"

"Alright, let's do this!"

"..........guys?"

A long moment passed before Springer turned to Flagship, feeling a little foolish at how utterly not-like-he-planned that had turned out. "Um," he said, "instead of getting a buffer, I think I just made things worse."

Flagship briefly considered appealing to Shortfall's better nature in order to set the mini-bot as a moderating force once things came to a head, then promptly dismissed the thought as a lost cause. He'd been one of the first to start hounding Fallout to get more of a social life since he'd found out how isolated the Ghosts tended to be. The mini-bot was probably out there leading the charge of Ghosts out to discover what their second in command was up to.

"Well... the two of them can manage things, I'm sure. And it may actually keep both our units out of trouble. Hopefully they won't think we did this on purpose," he added as an afterthought, before gesturing towards the entrance of the no doubt entirely abandoned area beyond. "We might as well get some work done in the meantime..."

~*~

Both data pads had been up and running since they'd turned the corner that took them out of their respective commanding officers' sights, information being compiled at a quick rate by the both of them. The walk to the mess hall had been mostly composed of rapid-fire questions and answers as Fallout and Roadbuster traded information, building up a more thorough view of the last mission on either side than data alone could provide.

"So, one of the other units pulled out before the deadline established at the start," which was pretty much the norm in any armed encounter, inasmuch as no plan ever withstood battle perfectly – something which the both of them knew, "which would have been something you could have compensated for if it hadn't been for the fact that the Decepticons then brought in units unaccounted for in the Intel you had and steamrolled your remaining support units..." It was an understatement, to say the least. Eradicated would have been a better term to use, she supposed, wincing slightly as exactly what had occurred now stood out in sharp, stark details.

At her side, Roadbuster nodded, no anger or tension in his expression. Things went wrong all the time, after all, and none of his crew had been seriously injured. In a situation like this, he was perfectly happy with letting Springer bring up the finer, messed up details with the detachment head. "We were given comms for the three units on the mainline, we weren't given them for the support," which was a critical oversight on the Wreckers' part as much as the detachment's, "so we didn't know they were being overrun until the Decepticons were almost on top of us. Fighting was danger close leaving us without Xantium as back-up and it didn't take much for us to be encircled." Roadbuster looked at the numbers of the casualties and his optic band faded. Too many were lost and his team could've been among them. "We sincerely appreciate your help."

"It was just good that we were able to get there on time and assist," was the answer, Fallout still scanning through the data before her though she'd heard Roadbuster's words clearly. While there was no way she could see the particular information he was looking at due to his height alone, the tension about him when she looked up made it easy to figure out. "We were within range and available." It had been in large part due to luck that they'd even been close enough to arrive in time, a mission having taken them within range earlier. Furthermore, the mission had left them in a position where all were actually fit and ready to take on the type of data gathering and sharing which had been exactly what the Wreckers had needed. "Besides - that's what our mandate is, just as yours is to be down there in the middle of things."

Hearing the answer the Wreckers tended to give in a similar situation being quoted back at him made Roadbuster smile under his battlemask. Quoting back what most Autobots said to them in response just made him grin all the more, "Doesn't stop us from being grateful about it."

He looked down at Fallout and though she wasn't nearly as fragile looking in comparison to other femmes, she was still so tiny in comparison to Roadbuster. "It's also very encouraging being able to see your team in action. So to speak."

They'd been officially (inasmuch as anything was official about the Ghosts) active for a relatively short amount of time, when one considered the scope of the war, but this sort of mission was one they'd done fairly often and Fallout didn't bother hiding her pride in the team's ability to coordinate with such efficiency. Not that anything else would have been acceptable to any of them, of course. That most of those missions (and any other) they did were usually sight unseen made the praise all the more worthwhile. "Thank you. I'll pass that along to the others," she smiled at him, entirely willing to unbend for a moment when it came to the others' work being recognized.

He gave a warm rumbling 'of course', the two lapsing again into an easy silence as they traversed the hall. After the initial formation and creation of training, the Ghost Unit had been basically taken out of Springer's influence (and therefore Roadbuster's observation) though it didn't stop the two Wreckers from touching base with the other group when they could. "How are your others coming along, anyway? Still as incorrigible as ever?"

"Would it be us if they were any other way?" she asked lightly, closing her data pad they turned a corner. "Though after some of their exploits had Flagship considering throwing them in chains, I made a point of pulling out some of the files on the more colorful activities some of yours have been involved in and left them on his desk for him to find." She looked remarkably cheerful as he continued. "He actually told Jazz we weren't so bad after all, once he'd read through what your lot can get up to."

Roadbuster shook his head, laughter vibrating lowly through him. "It's a good thing he can't look at what we've decided to keep 'off the record' otherwise he'd probably have second thoughts on the wisdom of associating with us."

"I'm not telling him you said that. Anyway – to actually answer your first question, they're doing extremely well and they all bring something important to the mix." She shrugged a bit, knowing it was one of the reasons each had been chosen but still feeling a need to say it. Every single one of them worked to the utmost to keep improving their abilities and to contribute to the team, though the feeling of 'newness' which had lingered about them once their formal training had been done had started to fade away slowly. "And Shortfall has been fitting in nicely despite being late to join us, as it were."

"It's always difficult for someone new to join a pre-established group as most of our current rank can attest." As they approached the lift to take them to another level, Roadbuster asked, "Do you prefer the officer scene, or a chance to slum it with the grunts?"

"Officer's lounge is usually quieter," was the automatic response followed almost seamlessly by, "though either is fine by me." Fallout had the grace to look a touch apologetic about the clear preference indicated by her answer. Being around too many unknown bots without the team to watch her back made her tense these days, mostly. "I've just gotten used to being in the habit of keeping a low profile ," she elaborated as they stepped into the lift, "unlike some in Intel who are a bit more... extravagant, socially wise." She definitely, absolutely wasn't going to give any names there.

"I've gotten used to 'slumming it', as they say." The two stood back as the lift doors opened and a small group of Autobots stepped out. They nodded in quick acknowledgment but otherwise didn't give the two of them another look. "Tends to be more relaxed and you do get to pick up a wider range of information there. Besides, most of my team are hardly fans of officers." Even Springer rarely set foot in an exclusively officer area unless it pertained to his duty.

The two stepped inside the lift, doors closing shut and Fallout shifted, turning her back towards one of the side panels automatically. "Also, we seem to have acquired some company."

"I noticed," came the calm reply. "I'm assuming they're yours as I didn't hear any obnoxious chatter and snickering." There was a beat and then, "Also, they've evaded my proximity alert so I know they're not mine."

"Longshot and Salvo," she paused briefly, then continued, "and I'm betting Shortfall is in the vents somewhere though he's not in my standard range." And she wasn't about to use anything stronger only to trigger any of the security bots on the base into declaring an infiltration alert of any kind. "...and Callsign is in flight. How in Primus's name did they get Callsign to come out like that?" she boggled at the thought, utterly mystified. Then narrowed it down to the important point of the matter. "And why are they tailing us in the first place anyway?"

"In all likelihood? They found out you're getting a drink with someone and want to know who you're with." The lift stopped a level before the one they were heading for to let on another two Autobots. Roadbuster put a hand to Fallout's shoulder, steering her towards the door. "Come on, we'll hit up the dispenser in the canteen instead and head for the mezzanine." Green optic band curled and flashing in rare mischief, Roadbuster told her, "Let's make them work for their information, shall we?"

"That sounds like a fine idea," was the firm reply, Fallout somehow managing not to stalk right back to her teammates in order to throttle the lot of them. With the addition of another item to her list of things to do for the day (Note to self: Kill them all. Again.) she allowed herself to be steered in the direction Roadbuster pointed them both towards. "One day, Short's going to end up caught in some base's vents during a maintenance cycle and..." she trailed off, a contemplative expression on her faceplates which soon shifted into a half-smile. "It would be horribly mean of me to ensure that might happen sooner rather than later, wouldn't it?"

~*~

#They got off a floor early. Slaggitall, those shafts are tight when switching levels and I have to go back one level down now.#

#Stop complaining and move it, I don't want to miss this!#

#HEY! Look! He put his hand on her!#

#You need to get out more, Salvo.#

#...Longshot, buddy... did you just tell Salvo of all mechs to get out more?#

#Can I beat him up now? Strange mech! Hand on our second-in-command! Hello?! #

#NO!#

#Ow. You didn't have to all yell at once...#

#You're all insane... they're just talking.#

#Oh wow. Callsign just said something while we're at a strange base.#

#Great. Way to go Salvo. Now he won't anymore.#

#Shut up. All of you! ...go on ahead without me, I'll catch up.#

#Heh heh heh. You stuck, Shortfall?#

#I hate you, Longshot. I hate you lots.#

~*~

They appeared to have lost one which, while less than they would have liked, was encouraging to see the Ghosts wouldn't be fooled by such a simple misdirection. On the other hand, as they approached the mezzanine adjacent to the canteen they appeared to have picked up a couple more tailers.

"There they are." Roadbuster said lowly, tone conveying flat acceptance more than annoyance. For now. "Knew they'd show up sometime."

Unlike the members of the Ghost Unit who specialized in covert operations, the Wreckers were generally too large and bulky to do any decent sneaking about, especially without looking suspicious while in the rear. As such, their idea of being covert was to look as if they were in the same area by mere coincidence, splitting into teams to cover and observe all vectors. To all appearances it seemed like Broadside and Scoop were in deep conversation over some kind of schematic. Roadbuster, of course, knew better. The only thing he wasn't certain of was how much of this he had to blame on Springer and how much of this was their idea of alleviating boredom.

"Oh no, we're surrounded?" Fallout couldn't help but laugh quietly, amused by the situation now that both teams were part of the action. "I'm just tempted to blame this situation on our illustrious and fearless leaders, I have to admit." They were walking past the bay windows lining the hallway leading to the mezzanine, dodging a group of mechs chatting and enjoying the view while on break, when it occurred to her that cheating was not only acceptable but to be forcefully encourage in this situation. "Hrm, give me a moment? I think this little game might get very interesting if I can just pull this off..."

One sensor panel whirring slightly as she engaged systems usually only used during missions, Fallout encoded the signals so that the team in the immediate vicinity were excluded save the one mech she was trying to reach and sent out a clear, solid ping. She was rewarded by a portion of the sky outside suddenly flipping about in dismay - Callsign, jarred out of his usual motionless hover by the sudden ping sent his way.

#Er, yes Fallout? I mean, um, well... do you - er, anything I can do? Ahehehe..."

#I can see you.#

#...you're going to kill me, aren't you? I'm going to die a horrible death?# Callsign's terror would have been easier to believe had it not been for the ghoulish delight in his tone. #I told them this was a bad idea, but nooo...#

#Well... I won't kill you if you switch sides and swear eternal allegiance to me, my pretty little fount of knowledge!#

#...Oh! So, if I just let you know where the others are, you'll spare me and only slay everyone else? Terrifying and gruesome deaths for all but me?#

#Depends on the quality of the data, mmm?#

#I kept telling them they were being silly but they didn't listen. ...say, if it's really good data, do I get to suggest ways to ensure their horrible demise?#

#I think I could be talked into that. You may live and assist me in smiting down the enemy! And training sim data is just fine. I like training sim data. It makes me happy.#

#Yay! Shortfall's still stuck in the ventilation system between your floor and the next one, by the way. I can patch you through on what he has to say about it if you'd like? And... firing up all sensors, now!#

"And that's one subverted to our side," Fallout murmured with satisfaction. "Data incoming and... we are live." Resorting to a similar tight-link she'd used when sending the Wreckers data on the battle field, but keeping it narrowed down to Roadbuster, she started sharing the information and coordinates Callsign was sending her way.

"Shall we add your bots' ID signals to the mix?" The opportunity to turn the tables on those trailing them and add some training to the mix for all involved was doing remarkable things for her mood.

Roadbuster smirked, swirling his unopened container of energon contemplatively. "They did bring it upon themselves," he gave a little laugh. "We're absolutely validated in having a little fun with them.

~*~

:So? Who's he with?:

:He's... with a femme.:

A pause resounded over their comm.

:A femme?:

:Seriously?:

:Do you guys want a capture for proof?:

The image transmitted to the rest of the Wreckers, each scrutinizing it carefully.

:Any idea who she is?:

:Without getting a data ping from her, no.:

:Meh, not entirely impressive, is she?:

:This is RB we're talking about. He doesn't go for ostentatious. He actually has standards.:

:...was that a crack at me and Sandstorm?:

:Hey- I have standards!:

:Right, Sandy. Your standards are just so low you constantly pass right by them without noticing.:

:I do not!:

:Whoa- hey! Hold off on the chatter guys, they're moving out!:

:Moving? Where to?:

:They're headed to the eastern exit of the mezzanine. Twist, Spin, you two are the closest. Me and Side will move from our position as soon as we're cleared.:

:Roger that.:

~*~

The mezzanine exit was cleared without either of them bursting out in laughter at the antics of the more visible mechs following them, even as an audio of Shortfall's cursing and swearing was gleefully relayed to them by Callsign, along with whatever amusing bit of visuals he could grab from his eye-in-the-sky positioning.

"You know, it occurs to me that you're being a bad, bad influence." Fallout informed the large mech with careful solemnity.

"Lies. I am the paragon of professionalism and morality." He quipped back. The bottom half of his battlemask slid back as he sipped lightly at his energon, smile playing along the edges of his lips.

Fallout smiled back. "You know, if we manage to get them busy following one or the both of us at variable intervals-"

"We could probably get them all in one place?"

"And then add Shortfall to the mix. I could ping the base's ventilation maintenance into action. I bet he'd make a spectacular landing with all the pressure build up, particularly if I find a main distribution hub to redirect up..." She couldn't use her visor to get to any of the floor or duct plans, obviously - it would be a dead giveaway to snap it down for such a thing. But she could easily access the data anyway via remote so long as someone made sure to keep her from walking into things. "Make sure I don't walk in anything, would you? Going to access the vent schematics from the central archives and add it to what we already have and see what we can work with... I should probably tap into the maintenance systems too..."

Roadbuster dutifully put a hand to Fallout's elbow, the breadth of it neatly covering most of her arm. With Callsign's data being filtered to him, the Wrecker could see his team switching positions, two of them moving to intercept at an upcoming, heavily trafficked area. Deciding runaround was decidedly fairplay, he pulled Fallout closer to his side and led her down a smaller hallway, curious to see how long it would take his team to realize they overshot their targets. Or if they'd inadvertently stumble on the tailing Ghosts...

Once the architectural plans were retrieved from the base's central archives, overlaying that over the plans they already had combined to the location of both teams was disarmingly easy. Since Roadbuster had navigated them out of sight once she pulled out of the data feed, Fallout quickly snapped down her visor and meshed everything together, quickly narrowing the ventilation system's potential critical mass locations to two – one of which was on the other side of the base and therefore unsuitable, and one two floors away. She threw it back to Callsign who quite gleefully integrated the static overlay of data to his own feed, sending it back to the both of them with a pleased hum.

"I think we have a goal to aim for," she grinned, visor sliding back up just in case they should fall back in sight of either of their teams. "Any preferences as to how we get them there?

"Your team is already tailing us, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem leading them in that direction. Mine, though..." He thought for a moment, pace kept long and slow enough for Fallout to keep up with little problem. "If we keep dodging their stake outs, they'll have to start moving after us actively instead of passively waiting for us to come to them. Which, since we've already lost one, they'll regroup to do a more direct tailing." Roadbuster smirked to himself, wishing he could actually see the looks on his teammates' faceplates when they realized he'd avoided them.

~*~

:Spin, I'd hate to say this-:

:Then don't.:

:I think we lost them.:

:Didn't I tell you NOT to say that?:

:Face it, they took one of these smaller turnoffs before they were in range of our proximity alerts:

:Right. One of these tiny halls that can barely just hold a mech RB's size.:

:They had to have. It's the only explanation, though WHY is still up for grabs...:

:To have his sordid way with her, of course.:

Twin Twist rocked to an abrupt halt, staring at his fellow jumpstarter in something akin to horror. "Don't tell me that!"

"Whaaaat?" Topspin drawled off their comm. "You wanted an explanation and it's not like he doesn't get the urge every now and again."

The look he got was flat and unamused. "Spin, please. You know what Roadbuster's like, that wouldn't happen." :Besides,: he continued back on their comm again as well as their pace down the hall, :he could break her with one hand.:

:I'm sure there's femmes out there that like it rough.:

:Y'know what? I'm gonna ignore you in favor of alerting the others we lost them. We'll regroup at their previous known location and figure out what to do from there.:

~*~

#Um...guys?#

#Shut up, Shortfall. Busy here.#

#She went that way. This not using sensors to not warn her deal is making this harder than it ought to be!#

#You think a mech as big as the one with her would be easier to follow...#

#Er... guys?#

#Yeah, the mech with a _hand on her_!#

#Salvo...#

#I think they split up.#

#No, really. GUYS!?#

#Hey... why hasn't Callsign said anything in a while?#

#...oh no he didn't...#

#So... them splitting up? It's a _bad thing_. It means that the little... hey, who are these-#

#Fine, no advance warning for you. You can all drown for all I care! INCOMING!#

~*~

The sound of water gushing just barely didn't overwhelm the soggy cries of 'WARGH!' from down the hall. Roadbuster gave a little hum, "Right on time," before draining the last of his energon and tossing the container down a nearby waste receptacle. He pushed off the wall and canted his head towards Fallout. "Shall we see the outcome of our hard work?"

The signatures of her own lot were moving out and fast, Shortfall's in particular apparently moving in sudden bursts of ill-directed speed – skids on still cleanser-covered pedes, she suspected with amusement.

"Might be best if I went to find my own instead of lingering," she was trying so very hard not to laugh too much. "They've already made a run for it and as tempting as it is to go mock your bots, I think I'll hold off a little bit longer on making anything formal." She grinned up at him. "Besides, I want to detour by the security center now to get copies of all this before one of them thinks to erase all incriminating evidence... think you can keep them busy while I do that?" Her smile grew wider. "I'll get you your own copies, of course."

He lifted a hand in a half wave, "Will do." He watched Fallout slip down the corridor before turning towards the spluttering and indignant curses, battlemask slipping back over his face. After a ten beat count, Roadbuster strode towards his flailing team, turned the corner and stopped just short of the waterline. He opened up an audio/visual link to Fallout- she certainly did deserve to see her work in real time. Cleaning solution still trickled down the exploded vent- the vent covering itself dented beyond repair and currently embedded over Scoop's helmet. A sadistic smile ALMOST pulled at Roadbuster's expression, but he ironed it out as his team froze their tangle of limbs and stared up at him.

"Roadbuster..." The name was strained and quiet, no one knowing what to say to him.

"What," he said in that low, no-nonsense way that said he was about to get seriously annoyed in half a nano-klik, "is going on here?"

"Look- it's not what you think-"

"Isn't it? Because right now I think the six of you have caused property damage to a base that we were not, in fact, authorized to destroy. Am I wrong?"

"But it wasn't us!"

"So an air vent- AIR VENT, mind, not built to hold any sort of liquids -conveniently decided to exploded while you were right under it, is that it?"

"It wasn't us! There- there was this mini-bot-"

"What did I tell you last time about stuffing mini-bots in places they are not meant to be stuffed in?"

Arms flailed at him. "We're telling the truth, RB! We didn't do anything! This mini-bot came flying out the vent with all this water and then he ran off!"

"After stepping on my fraggin' face."

"That's his tracks right there!"

Roadbuster made a show of stepping through the solution and studying Shortfall's tracks as well as the others made by his fellow Ghosts. He turned back to the Wreckers, finally all on their feet. "You will find," he told them with no room for disobedience, "cleaning supplies and you will mop this mess up."

"But-"

"You will do this. Now. Before anyone else finds out about this and files a complaint to Springer that he is incapable of keeping his mechs in line for even five cycles. Whoever this mysterious vent-crawler of yours is, I'll deal with it. Is that understood?"

"Yessir."

"Good." Roadbuster pulled back, arms folded across his chestplate as he regarded his Wreckers. "And stop following me."

He was treated with six flabbergasted expressions before he turned away, no longer able to keep the grin from his faceplates. He transmitted to Fallout, :I love my job.:

Laughter was the only reply she was able to give him in return.


	40. Memento Mori

**Memento Mori **  
_Mater: I knowed it, I knowed I made a good choice!  
Lightning McQueen: In what?  
Mater: My best friend._  
~ Cars

"Found the other one. Yanked her clean out of the ventilation system through the wall. Never saw me coming."

The words and ensuing chuckle sent a chill through Shortfall's internals, though nothing of his reaction showed externally. Even before the frightening amount of automated responses and countermeasures he'd been upgraded with since he'd joined the Ghosts, he would have managed to show nothing in such a situation.

Granted, such a situation never would have occurred in the first place, before. There'd been nobody to drag up before him then, ragged and twisted metal gleaming brightly in the stark lighting of a room. There'd been nobody to use against him in such a way. The sound of vents cycling harshly through the silence seemed too loud, but Shortfall kept staring ahead, saying and doing nothing. There was nothing to say and though his processors raced madly ahead, skittering through one possibility after another, there was nothing to do either.

Everything that could possibly have gone wrong, had done so. And then they had been caught. It was as simple as that.

The large mech who had walked in smiled at Shortfall, taunting and mean, and lifted up the smaller form he had dragged along with him by the arm. Shifting, he made as though to throw his captive to the ground in front of mini-bot, ignoring the way the motions threatened to finish what he'd started, the shoulder joint of his captive giving away nearly entirely.

"Idiot. Don't you dare let go of the femme so easily. Don't you _know_ anything?"

With a glare of anger at being upbraided in front of an Autobot no less, the guard sneered and stepped back, carelessly swinging around as he did so. He moved towards the corner, still dragging his prisoner carelessly. His grip on her arm tightened.

Shortfall heard the sound of metal crumpling further and didn't speak nor move, no emotion showing. The mech who had been interrogating him cycled his vents irritably.

"What did you _do_?"

"Bounced her off the walls a few times. She was being annoying."

Somewhere, deep inside beneath all the protocols and the countermeasures, a small voiced howled in rage. They had caught Fallout as well. They had hurt his partner. Energon dripped to the floor, each drop resonating like thunder. They were hurting his _friend_.

"Well then. You know how this goes. All you have to do is tell us what we want to know," his interrogator said, smoothly. "She doesn't need to be hurt any further."

Shortfall didn't say anything, knowing the profile of the one interrogating him, knowing nothing would change what would happen next. The voice underneath the ice ranted and raged, on and on.

He wanted them all _dead_.

~*~

Energon smeared the wall and floors of the corner of the room, some of it having reached far enough to splatter the side of the table he was still seated at. It was only he, the interrogator and Fallout on the floor now, the guard sent out long ago.

"This sort of delight in pain is unseemly," his interrogator had said, giving the other mech a look of disdain. "I shall deal with this myself."

He'd tsk'd at the state of Fallout's arm afterwards, moving towards her to assess her condition. He'd almost gently set the limb back at the proper angle before turning to give Shortfall a long, pensive look. Faced with mute silence still, the Decepticon had shrugged diffidently and then extracted a neural blade from an arm sheath, not even bothering to look at Shortfall as he studied the form sprawled on the ground intently before reaching down. Shortfall knew then that they'd been right. Something was going on at the station. And whatever it was, his interrogator was not happy at their appearance, nor willing to wait to find out what they knew.

Fallout had onlined at the third cut. She'd started screaming at the seventh.

~*~

The questions came and went between the screams, and Shortfall remained silent until both questions and screams went away.

"Why don't we just take a shot at him already? I bet you we can core him within a breem, just look at him already, he's..."

The voices swam around him but Shortfall still stared ahead, his awareness of them slipping on and off - the guard's return had been noted and filed away, nothing more. Numbers ticked through his processors slowly and he carefully hoarded them away, each one a brilliant, shining promise. Fallout loved numbers. She couldn't keep track now so he did for her, the one single thing he could do.

"You are a fool. His defenses likely outweigh anything we might bring to bear against them here. We are currently on an isolated outpost in the middle of nowhere, with precious few resources - and none of the ones we'd need to break someone of his expertise. He was the one in the mainframe. He was the one holding up those firewalls. He is the one with the strongest defenses of the two." A pause, his interrogator sounding put-upon. A day marred by inconveniences and annoyances. "Which means he has the answers we seek and the femme is very likely entirely expendable."

Shortfall would have sneered at them, were he not still counting, over and over again. Ice thickened steadily through his thoughts, countermeasures stable and unyielding. Numbers scrolled underneath it all. Three for waking, seven for screaming. Twenty-four for off-lining, merciful silence broken by the stuttering of struggling systems and internals, by the creaking of a frame still being pinned down to the ground like a bug.

"I've given her a stimulant. She'll wake soon. If he won't speak, we can attempt to core her - she might have the information we want. And even if she doesn't, she might still have something worth the effort."

An ugly smile answered that decision. "I'll go get the cables and monitoring equipment."

"You are a repugnant individual, you do know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you happy. I ain't the one that's going to rip someone's processors to bits, am I?"

"You're the only one who is going to enjoy it." The interrogator's voice was cold and flat, as the other left the room. "Monster," he whispered to no one in particular, looking at the door in revulsion long after his comrade in arms had departed.

Shortfall counted and bided his time. Soon now. Very soon.

~*~

_Invasive procedures detected. Countermeasures, activated._

Programs and patterns flared to life, the probing tendrils of code slamming into a wall of fire between one instant and the next.

"She's activated some sort of countermeasure."

Pain licked at her awareness, both within and without. The voice was remote, distant and unemotional. The back of her neck felt cold and exposed and Fallout realized with numb panic that it was because the plating protecting some of her most sensitive systems had been peeled away. She tried to move, to reach for the cables there - _nononostayaway_ - and the fresh burst of pain from her arm and side nearly off-lined her once more. Her neck components felt numb and that was so wrong terror nearly took over once more, then and there.

_Shortfall. Where? Can't go offline._ She rode through the waves of agony hoping to find some sort of balance, until she realized they wouldn't abate, wouldn't fade away. The damage was too extensive, sensory receptors too agonized for even the most basic of self-repairs. The HUD of her shattered visor wavered and flickered, screaming strident warnings at her incessantly. She could feel something creeping through her processors, slithering through outer systems and nodes in which it had no business being.

"Perhaps I was wrong. This one seems to have an elaborate countermeasures system after all."

The voice was uncaring, almost bored. Fallout tried to move again, felt her body twitching in reaction. Saw a limb on the ground nearby, an arm with no body of its own. Heard a pained, horrified keen crawling through the room and only belatedly realized it was coming from herself. She stared upwards into the detached gaze of the Decepticon linked to her, saw a reflection on the glossy side panel of his helm.

The presence within her crawled closer, laboriously breaking through the first set of layers protecting her mainframe. More countermeasures flared in response, and Fallout let them do their work, reaching out for something else instead. Something only she knew, something safe and right. Something which no bot in their right mind would ever expect.

Data, glorious and never-ending, rushed from the systems of the outpost. Unprotected communications from within, basic security systems that didn't need scrambling. Flight schedules and duty shifts. Personnel rosters. Maintenance programs, a wealth of maintenance programs, the most beautiful information Fallout had ever seen.

Fallout drew it all in then reached for more, compressing all of it as best as she could, activating every single one of her processing lines – more processing lines than any unknowing bot might suspect to even exist. And then cast it out in a single, endless directed burst, optics flickering brilliantly up towards the Decepticon hovering over her as she overwhelmed his buffers and crushed his awareness from her processors. And then his own.

Taking the codes to Shortfall's restraints from the remains of his systems was easy, after that.

~*~

The interrogator's body jerked and flopped to the ground, a final hiss of air sounding from his vents before he went still. A gurgle of data raggedly broadcast through the room and the locks holding Shortfall in place unlocked between one moment and the next. And Shortfall chose a number.

Three. Two for leaping and one for killing. Shortfall clung to the lifeless body of the Decepticon he'd flung himself at the instant he was released, rode it to the ground with single-minded intent. Three. It was a good number, that, he thought. He'd used it on the wrong mech, but it was still a good, solid number. Energon gushed from the guard's neck, the arc of life sustaining liquid following them both to the floor, essential systems housed at the junction of shoulder and neck bared and savaged in an instant, a spike driven through the opening and up into vital systems in a sparkbeat, a plethora of deadly virii swarming through unprotected neural pathways in the next. When the world stopped tilting, finally coming to a standstill, the petro-rat pushed away from the inert security officer on the ground, teeth clicking idly as his gazed settled on the ruined form of his partner.

Between that the moment and the next he was by her side somehow, shifting to root form to carefully unhook the cables from the back of her neck, to somehow shove the dead mech draped over half of her body away.

They were leaving. No one would stop them.

~*~

"I'm sorry. The only way to find you was to let them capture me as well." Her voice crackled still, a damaged vocal unit one of the last things on Deadline's list of priorities. Fallout shifted slightly, clawed fingertips coming to rest slightly on the back of Shortfall's hand. The mini-bot had stood a silent vigil at her side the entire time Deadline had worked to stabilize her, she'd been told. He'd refused to be moved and though Salvo could have just picked him up and carry him away, Deadline had told them all to leave him be instead and had suffered the mini-bot remaining close to his partner through the entirety of the procedures.

She'd woken while the others were in recharge (Salvo was still in the room beyond leaning awkwardly against the wall and Deadline was sprawled in the chair of his office, unmoving). And now Shortfall stared at her, the implications of what she'd just said seeping through slowly. Processes froze, thoughts stuttering as he tried to wrap his mind around what she had done. What she had to have known would happen.

And then he realized exactly what _he_ had done in return. Stark terror slammed through him and the urge to run was nearly overwhelming, right then and there - this was too much, far too much for him. It wasn't like him, went against everything he'd ever clung to in order to survive. You never invested any emotion in anyone but yourself, if you wanted to stay alive, never allowed yourself to care for anyone, certainly didn't risk yourself over and over when you could leave a liability behind in order to survive, and you never-

"I can't believe you _bit_ him." Shortfall stared at her, jarred out of his daze. "Don't look at me like that. You _bit_ him. Ew. That has to be the most revolting thing I've ever seen." As the mini-bot gaped down at her, Fallout smiled slowly. "Thank you." And then she snickered - wincing the entire time - at the gagging sounds echoing through the room as Shortfall clutched at his throat components, twitching wildly.

"I bit a Decepticon."

"I know, I was there remember?"

"I _bit_ a _Decepticon_!"

"He never knew what hit him?"

"EW! I can't believe I _did_ that!" A pause. "What if he was contagious or something? Oh Primus, DEADLINE! HELP!"

The medic glared at him blearily from the doorway of his office, then had Salvo carry the protesting mini-bot off without further ceremony, grumbling about uncouth bots making patients that should not laugh strain themselves too much. He pretended not to see how the smile faded away once the others were out of sight, pretended not to notice how Fallout's hand came to rest protectively on the hastily patched back of her neck. Instead he thought of schematics and additional armor plating, and decided to show her the new designs as soon as they were ready.

* * *

Memento Mori: 1) A reminder of death or mortality. 2) a reminder of the possibility of failure


End file.
